Awakening Conqueror
by Invisible Staircase
Summary: AU: They were nothing but monsters beneath their so human skin, terrible and aggressive. It was a forgotten truth that would throw the Nations into chaos when at long last, the greatest monster of them all woke again.
1. Chapter 1

**Story Introduction:**

Let's see if I can make this clear and not too confusing. This story is decidedly AU (alternate universe juuuust in case people don't know), although I'm actually trying to keep it close to the normal Hetalia universe. Mostly it's the twists I've done to the origin of the Nations and what they are that makes this AU.

The story formatting will have an italicized portion at the start that I sort of call 'lore', which tells the tale of the origin of the nations and gives sort of behind the scenes looks at things. After that you get the 'normal' story, focusing on the Nations in their more typical setting. Hopefully this isn't too confusing.

On a side note, I'm fully expecting this fic to get rather bloody as it goes on (not this chapter, but in later ones), for reasons that should become rather apparent. If a bit of gore is not for you, you've been warned.

For those waiting for updates to **Wasteland to Wealth** and **Gallery Nine** (and wondering why the hell I'm starting this), fear not. The next chapters of both of those fics are nearly complete, and could likely be posted tonight.

* * *

_They did not create the world, but they conquered it._

_They clawed their way through rock and stone, they devoured with gnashing hungry teeth the soil that hid them from the skies. Aggressive and tenacious, they let their ravenous gluttony give them shape and form, fearsome fiends of clawed twisting limbs and sinuous hides and bodies. Teeth for tearing and ripping, teeth for chewing and grinding, they chose both and did both, turning against anything in their need to consume. Voraciously they set upon the world they tore themselves from, always violently taking everything they could, adding it to themselves, supplementing their strengths to unfathomable levels. _

_They turned on each other constantly, consuming and cannibalizing each other in mad fits of frenzy, taking on the strength of those they ate. Where hundreds and thousands of them had at once existed, terrorizing the lands and the tiny creatures that roamed it, the numbers began to dwindle swiftly. Thousands did become hundreds, and those hundreds became one hundred and then less. It wasn't until there were only eight left that their unending hunger seemed to abate, lessening and giving the fiends the ability to think._

_Such cruel and selfish thoughts did run through their minds._

_In a near bestial haze, each declared that the world would belong to them. Each asserted their right to be the alpha, the king, the ultimate conqueror of all they stood upon. The eight clashed against each other terribly, shaking the earth with their battles, leaving mountains and valleys where their bodies wrestled on the earth. _

_They could only come to a stalemate… the eight were too evenly matched. They could not break each other, they could not devour. They could not win._

_They sought for a new source of power to tip the scales, and they looked to that which they came from. They'd devoured so much of it, the taste lost on their lips and sour now. They stood upon the earth and it refused them strength, refused to fuel their feuding any longer. They raged yet the earth withstood them, and their hungering eyes were forced to turn elsewhere. They looked, and all they could see were the tiny ones. The children the earth had willingly given itself to._

_Humans. The humans had the willing graces of the earth. The humans inherited its strength truly. With the support of humans, they could draw to themselves more power, could gain more advantages for their petty wars. Through the humans would come more power… and they would have it no matter the costs._

_Thus, they wrapped themselves in human guises, they shrank and covered their monstrous forms in the shapes of men and women, taking skins and colors and features to suit those they would rule. They impressed the humans with their feats of strength and their uncanny power. More than anything however… they fed the greed within men, fed their ambitions and desires, and they made them to follow. They became as gods, they became the hearts of the people, and they became the supposed protectors of their homes. They wrapped themselves in chains and promises to the people; they took on their pains and the pains of their lands if only to soak up that much more strength from them._

_They became the origins of what would later be called 'Nations'._

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Italy Veneziano chewed on his lower lip, worrying the skin to the point of bleeding. It was not an uncommon occurrence to find the Nation in states of distress, for he was not one to be considered very powerful. Through the ages the Nation with the auburn hair and sun squinting eyes had done nearly everything he could to avoid battles and conflicts. In his heart was the soul of the artist, of the merchant, of a lover and a gourmet. The land of his people, his land, was not vast in size, but his heart was content that way. He wanted nothing but sunny simple days filled with song, pasta, and good company.

He did not understand the warring impulses of the others, and more than that he did not _want_ to understand them. Battles and bloodshed, they scared him deeply and earned him the title of a coward, a title he would embrace a thousand times over if the others would simply leave him alone. He hated violence, deeply and with a passion. Their wars, he begged for them to keep them to themselves, pleaded for them to overlook his tiny peninsula.

Some years it worked, and some it did not. No matter how much he'd hoped otherwise, war _had_ touched him over the years with its terrifying claws, threatening to undo him. Oh how he hated war, hated when he had no choice. As a Nation he had fought back, but it was always so difficult. He was amazed he was alive, and he knew that in some of the fiercest times, it'd only been the strength of his allies that had gotten him through. The strength of allies and the graciousness of those who would not destroy him at defeat.

As he worried at his lip this morning, Italy could swear he felt something terrible in the air. Not one who'd ever been praised for being able to read the situation or the atmosphere well, a deep sense of dread was washing over him. He'd been torn from his sleep with a horrible nightmare, his body shuddering and shaking as if he were being torn apart. He felt wounds sear at his flesh in places he could not remember being hit, he could all but imagine blades coming for his skin, slicing into him with the intent to destroy him. Torn apart, that was the most horrendous and dizzying sensation he'd had from it all, and it was so painful he was surprised it hadn't killed him.

The dream had been so painful, so very painful, and he'd woken up screaming in a cold sweat.

What, what had it been? Was it a premonition? Was it a vision of the future? Wars damaged a Nation, suffering of the people led to his own suffering. There was no war right now, though, and his country was managing along. If he'd been under attack surely he would know, surely his boss would have called him at once! He wouldn't be staring out the window into peaceful skies with happily chirping birds.

Italy trembled and hugged his body tightly, wishing and hoping that his brother would show up soon. He'd called his twin the moment his heart had calmed down enough for him to think at all. _'Why… why didn't I think to run to Germany?'_ Normally he would, normally the Nation would flee as if on instinct towards the home of the other if anything even remotely frightful came to his mind. Normally he would leap into the other's bed, so often without clothes, and cling to the other as if his life depended on it.

Yet this morning, somehow, the thought of seeing Germany had only seemed to add to his fear.

No doubt the nightmare had been the cause of this irrational displacement of fear; no doubt it was why Italy had turned to his brother of all Nations and not to his ally. The twins had a rather strange and strained relationship, and while Italy liked to believe there would always be true affection between them, they'd been too divided in the past for him to say for certain if that were true. Raised in different Houses, under the care of different Nations, Veneziano and Romano had only recently rejoined each other when you considered the impressive number of years they'd existed. They were twins yet in some ways they were strangers, and there was an awkward air that always lingered about them.

'_My body hurts,'_ Italy thought to himself, hugging only tighter as if trying to hold himself together. His sunny disposition was in shambles, the clueless mask he showed to the world pocketed in the privacy of his own home. _'I should have called my Boss, I should have called to make sure the country is ok… but I… this feels so weird. This doesn't feel like war, this doesn't feel like an attack!'_ Italy shivered and pressed his eyes tightly shut. _'I'm scared.'_

He could sense his brother at the door before he heard the key turn in the lock, long before he heard the wood slam shut and angry yet anxious steps rush directly for him. He hadn't needed to shout, he hadn't had to call out to tell Romano where he was. As Italy drew in a steadying breath, he knew his brother could feel where he was just as clearly as Italy could feel his approach. Something in his chest, something tight and painful and aching, started to relax the nearer his brother came. It was like surfacing from beneath deep waters to finally breathe again. Why, why would it feel like this, when the presence of his twin had never caused something like this before?

His eyelids lifted just slightly to squint at his brother once Romano entered the room. He stared at the brown hair, disheveled and a mess much like Italy's own was right now. He looked at the flush on the cheeks that barely hid sickly pale skin from sight. Romano was panting, as if he'd run his way over as soon as Italy had called, and yet the fatigue was deeper than that surely. There was a look in his eyes, underneath the annoyance and the unpleasantness his brother typically wore like a shield. Their gazes locked, and it flared through them like liquid fire.

Romano had dreamt as well, Romano was terrified also.

"Brother!" Italy wailed, as he pitched his body forward, arms outstretched and desperate for a hug. Romano's face screwed itself into a scowl, his tongue clicking against his teeth in annoyance even if he opened up his arms. Their limbs twined about each other tightly, and both put as much strength into the embrace as they could. It was as if they sought to squeeze each other so fiercely they wouldn't be able to breathe.

Ah, but it wasn't that, it wasn't that at all.

Deep inside, they felt a yearning. Deep within, some hidden impulse and instinct was almost commanding them. Closer, closer, they needed to be closer. They needed to… to…

"What? What the hell got you so scared you had to call me, huh?" Romano's gruff voice silenced whatever thought was coiling through them, trying to seize their minds and attention. Their arms grew slack, muscles relaxed to the point of looseness. With a dismissive 'che', the darker haired twin took a step back. He crossed his arms over his chest, turning his face and only staring at his brother through the corner of his eye. Italy also took a step back, holding his hands together at his chest, fingers wringing together uselessly.

"I had a dream… a really really scary dream…" His voice was soft yet pensive, plaintive in a way that clearly showed he hoped the other could just make the hurt go away. Romano's expression only seemed to darken, though, and grudgingly he added his own voice.

"I did, too." Almost instantly of course, he forced his voice gruff and harsh, almost taunting his stupid little brother. "Of course unlike you I didn't have to go running to any potato bastards for a hug! I handled it on my own!"

"Ve! But brother! I called you right away! I didn't call Germany!" He flailed his arms, as if begging to be believed, as if that was more important than being insulted at all. Romano opened his mouth, no doubt to shoot out an insult for his brother or Germany, yet held his tongue suddenly. The situation washed through his thoughts, and he took in a deep swallow. His throat felt parched, and his mouth dry. The Italian twins stared at each other, so many questions in common and no answers between them. Romano turned his head to look at the other face on, and there was silence between them for a few more breaths.

"Veneziano… you can't tell Germany about this." Romano's voice was grave and serious. He didn't shout it like a command, and he didn't word it like a demand. Across from him, Italy nodded his head, no resistance to an idea that normally should have received one. Opening his eyes in full, Italy nodded his head solemnly, dropping his hands to his side.

"I know… I didn't plan to."

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

China surveyed the great round table in the center of the room, watching as some of his employees worked to prepare it for the upcoming conference. As the host for this year, it was of course his responsibility to make certain the facility was properly in order for all of the Nations that would be arriving the next day. Nearly everything had been prepared, from lodgings to printed out schedules to the all important menu for meals. Unlike the conferences held in _some_ countries, the meals served when China was host were always superb. He wouldn't have it any other way.

All the same, while in previous years the smooth preparations would have left the normally cheerful nation in a good mood, today nothing would be able to lift his spirits. A frown hit his face as he crossed his arms behind his back, taking to a slight amount of pacing. In truth he wanted nothing more than to be back at his own House, or perhaps to take a tranquil walk someplace where he could set his thoughts into some sort of order. His desire to withdraw away from this building went deeper than even just needing a way to clear his thoughts, even if it was woven together so tightly with it.

_Don't let them come here!_

That was what the voice had said, no shouted, no _pleaded_ at him in his dreams last night. Desperate and terrified, the voice and the words had chased away any images of his mind's nightly wandering. Though of course he couldn't place the voice, or the reason behind the words, China was wise enough to have already figured out whom the 'them' in that statement had to be. No doubt it was the other Nations, who would be gathering here on his soil. It wasn't as though China always relished the thought of having the other Nations come here, oh so very far from it. Wars tended to do that to you. However… why… why would such a sentiment assail him this particular time?

'_The voice… I know I've heard it before…'_ The old Nation searched deep in his memories, yet he couldn't quite grasp the thread that would lead him to the identity of the voice. He knew it wasn't his own internal monologue, for never had his head sounded to him quite so feminine. He didn't recognize it to be the voice of any of his siblings nor was it the voice of any in his employ. It was familiar all the same, and China was actually feeling acutely embarrassed about not being able to remember.

"Pardon me, sir… but one of the Nations has arrived early…" The human bowed low, no doubt uncomfortable at having to drag the Nation out of his thoughts. China fought away a flash of irritation. It was not directed at the human, no, but rather at himself. He'd allowed his mind to wander when he needed to be here to supervise.

"Who is it aru?" He knew he could probably tell on his own, if he tried hard enough, but he saw little reason for it. Perhaps some of the other Nations still found it fun and amusing to stretch their senses like that, to rely on the strange bond all of their kind seemed to share to sniff one another out. China considered himself much too old for that, and the act was unnecessary anyway. His people were advanced and intelligent enough to do something so simple as receive a guest and properly announce them.

"It is Japan…" Ah, the man's hesitation and discomfort seemed to grow. The rocky relationship between Japan and China was, and perhaps always would be, a difficult and sore subject. No matter how much either would try to look beyond wars and betrayals to maintain diplomacy, there were simply old hurts that could not and should not be forgotten. Their relations were strained under the surface. That didn't mean that China didn't still try to be the best older brother he could.

"I'll… I'll go see him shortly aru. Please show him to his room and let him know…" China tried to offer the human a smile, some show that he wasn't agitated with the man. The thought did cross his mind to offer some snacks or some such to calm him down, but the easing of the other's shoulders showed that wouldn't be necessary.

"Yes, sir." The man rushed away to do as he was told, and China let his fingers reach up to toy with the end of his ponytail.

'_What… would bring Japan to visit me early?'_ His heart throbbed painfully for a moment, fearing it would be bad news. Lately… lately there seemed to be a dangerous tension running about the world. At present there were no global wars, no all encompassing conflict to weigh them down. All the same… China knew he'd been acting cautiously, had been watching his words and looking over his shoulder more than usual. Something… something was brewing out there on the horizon, and for a Nation as old as he was, this _something_ would not be ignored.

He oversaw a few more things before steeling himself to visit his brother. So many possibilities roamed through his mind, but he knew better than to jump to any sort of conclusions. He approached the door to the room Japan would be staying at for the conference, and let his hands settle his ponytail for just a moment before knocking. He heard a muffled sort of sound beyond the door, Japan moving perhaps, before the other Nation came to open the door rather than calling for China to enter.

The two locked eyes for a moment, a complicated tension racing through them. It lasted only moments in truth, yet time was a fickle thing, and that moment seemed to stretch on through centuries long forgotten. Though the gaze wasn't broken, Japan stepped back from the door politely, bowing just slightly to let China come in. The two Asian Nations soon found themselves alone behind a closed door, and the silence kept them company.

"You've arrived early aru…" the elder Nation began, his voice filled with the unspoken question. Japan's eyes regarded him quietly, masking what he was thinking as usual. However, China had known Japan for a long time… and within that impassive gaze, he thought perhaps he could see worry. _'That or his eyes are only reflecting what I feel…'_ Finally China was answered with a nod.

"Yes…" Japan said almost hesitantly. His voice was non-committal, keeping his thoughts close. Still, there was a small shifting in his eyes, perhaps a nervous flicking to the left that spoke volumes. China remained silent, pursing his lips together in thought for a moment.

"Why aru?" He hadn't meant to let the question slip, though slip it did. Quietly yes, but resolutely as well. Japan took in a deep breath, and China could see the Nation's shoulders tense. His own did as well.

"I felt I needed to be here… I cannot explain it." Japan was clearly frustrated by his own answer, as if this strange compulsion aggravated him deeply. China thought to his dream of the night before. He thought about the voice he'd heard that was so familiar yet all but lost to him. Was it a voice Japan would remember? Somehow… China felt the other Nation far too young. China had been the one to raise him, mostly at any rate. If the voice was old to him, then surely it was ancient to Japan. _'Ancient…'_ The word chilled him softly, and he turned to leave the room.

"I am glad you are here, thank you." Japan said nothing to his thanks, and China did not wait for an answer. He left the room, deciding now was exactly the time for that walk.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

There were many things that England could dream of that would be unpleasant. With all of the history behind him, there was certainly much that could torture and torment his unconscious mind. Last night he'd dreamt deeply, and indeed this morning he'd woken up with a sense of unhappiness, of bitterness. He'd woken up feeling pained and hollow and… apprehensive. The feelings had lingered with him all morning, refusing to leave him be like a shark on the trail of blood. As if he hadn't already been on edge of late, now this dream was gnawing at his gut.

What was perhaps the most perplexing part of it all, he thought as he sat sipping some tea and perusing a newspaper, was that the content and subject of the dream itself wasn't unpleasant in and of itself. He'd dreamt of his former days of glory, he dreamt of the high heady time when he'd been an empire. An actual, powerful, thriving, 'don't even think of defying me' empire. Oh his skin had always felt so warm back then; back when he was ever blessed by sunshine. He could remember it so well still, those days when he'd felt as strong as a god almost. Those were glorious days indeed, and the memory of them while bittersweet now typically still brought a smile to his face.

There was no reason that dream should have unsettled him as it did… and yet… such was the case. He was uneasy today, unhappy. When he tried to puzzle through his reaction to the dream, he found it wasn't even the sense of regret that was weighing him down. He would always wish he could have maintained his former glory, he knew that to be true… and yet this morning? The dark feeling set upon him was almost like a panic. It was almost like he was suddenly afraid… as if somewhere in his bones he knew danger was coming, and that without the strength he'd possessed as an empire… he would certainly perish.

It was absolute rubbish of course. He might not be an empire any longer, but he was no weakling! He pulled his weight in wars; his people lasted when others couldn't hold out. England was perfectly strong enough and capable as he was now. Perhaps it was the global atmosphere of unease that had prompted such an irrational reaction from his dream. Perhaps that was why he was suddenly, no matter how much he rationalized against it, terrified at being simply a Nation again… not an Empire.

There was no room for empires in the world any longer though. Of course not. The world was settled into its ways, the Nations had worked out a system that was surviving. It wasn't quite so simple to rush around conquering anymore. You couldn't simply do that now.

Why, then, was he feeling that itch again though? That utter need to reclaim what he'd been? Why now? Why right before this conference when he was supposed to go and sit and speak politely about maintaining peace and the status quo? He set his tea down and all but threw the newspaper on the floor, scowling at it bitterly. His teeth clenched together and his muscles seemed to stiffen and tense. He needed to push this feeling away, and push it away soon. It couldn't possibly be productive.

Should he call someone? Would venting help? Oh but who could he really call about something like this? There were some who were so _obviously_ wrong to call ("Hey America, I was just fondly reminiscing about my days as an empire, don't suppose you'd fancy becoming my colony again, hmm?"), and then others who he simply didn't want to call. Chatting with France over something like this? No thank you. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, getting up to pace in his room. What the hell… what the bloody hell was going on with the world right now?

Part of him wanted this mysterious danger to show itself already, while another part of him so wisely warned him that he very much did _not_ want to see it.

'_Mind on the conference now, mind on the conference. Don't you have some last minute papers left to double check? Yes… yes you do.'_ In the face of non-existent answers to his questions, he'd simply have to settle for good old fashioned distraction. He left for his office, ignoring the whisper in the back of his mind warning him to prepare. It was coming, it was waking up.

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**Author's Note:**

Again, hopefully that all wasn't just a giant pile of confusion. XD I'm trying to keep events paced well with the 'lore' I have typed out, considering the lore starts to converge with the present after a while. I actually expect the future chapters are going to end up much longer than this one did. Sort of crazy. Therefore, expect this to be a slowly updated story.


	2. Chapter 2

_He became the king. He was the strongest amongst them all. He was the grand conqueror, the alpha._

_He was the Roman Empire._

_He'd had no name until his people had given it to him, and though other names would come to be his as well this one he held as true. He turned it to a name to be feared by all. Lands fell to his influence as he led his chosen people on, as he guided them through war after war. He made them as hungry for conquest as he was; he influenced them as surely as their ways began to fill him as well. More than warfare grew out of this fearsome alliance, clever and wise ways to hold to their power bloomed and thrived. While he taught the humans to conquer, they taught him to rule and to profit. They tamed him while he made them wild._

_They became indistinguishable, the humans and he, and they became bound ever tighter. His strength was unsurpassed, and the other seven of his kind feared him greatly. No matter how much they followed his example, no matter how much they followed him into this deceitful domestication, they could not match him. He was breaking it; he was tearing apart the stalemate. He was the Emperor. They bowed to him to save their lives._

_Subservient as they became, he let them live. It was good to have his kind falling to their knees before him, it was good to take those who'd clothed themselves as women as lovers. The only one who he thought could ever hope to match his strength he forced to serve him as a guard. He kept his deadliest enemy closest of all, made him the first target his traitorous kind would have to go through. Germania would serve him and nothing could touch the Roman Empire as he continued to expand his influence. The world as far as he could see was his. He'd claimed it and made it his, and his soul hungered for something more. _

_What else was there, though, when you'd destroyed it all? After so much consumption, what was there for such a beast to do but create? It was instinctive; it was the next stage of his existence._

_From his flesh and blood and bone he tore out a part of himself. From this he shaped and twisted and pulled, he bent his will to it and made it in his current image. The others watched on in utter fascination as he formed from himself a child, a terrible little human looking creature that stared out at them all with hungering eyes. They were the eyes they'd once had at the start; they were monster's eyes that were chillingly familiar yet left behind. _

_Fear and foreboding settled within the seven others, as if they could see what this little one would become. They tried to warn the Roman Empire to destroy the child, warned him that it was not like they were now. It was an abomination of the past; it was a corruption of the future._

_They told him it did not understand the tenuous arrangement they had now. The hunger was too fresh in the child they warned. The child had not torn itself into existence, had never even seen its true monstrous form, only its guise of humanity. It would not bow to his father as the others now did for it had not suffered at his hands. It would not be made to serve, it would refuse him. The child's will was too new, too fresh. There was no fear, no weariness to breed submission. The end they cried, it would be the end they warned him. _

_Oh he laughed, blinded by his misguided love and affection for it. Besides, what could a mere child do against the might of the Roman Empire? He ignored them and groomed his child, teaching it the very strength the others feared, binding to it part of his own land, commanding some of his people to follow it and claim it. It grew strong… so strong… and it gazed at the other seven with cruel eyes, deceiving eyes, hungering eyes. How could it be that the Roman Empire could not see it?_

_Germania watched on, and as the Roman Empire let his attention be claimed by his son, and took matters into his own hands. In secret he ripped not one, but two children from his own flesh. The children of Germania… he hid them carefully from the world as he much more carefully set to raise them his own way, he would not simply follow the ruined attempts of the Roman Empire. Germania would not make the same mistakes. _

_The Roman Empire's son was growing swiftly, and the sons of Germania would need to be ready to stop him._

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

"Thank you all for coming aru," China began, staring out at the Nations who'd come to the conference. They were assembled around the table, the table he'd made certain was set up perfectly. Small snacks had been set out, papers with the meeting's agenda set down for each placement. He'd made certain the chairs were numbered properly so there were no unfortunate Nations left with nowhere to sit. He'd very carefully assigned the seating chart to make certain everyone would be productive _and_ comfortable near their neighbor. He'd been as considerate and precise with the arrangements as possible, even taking a seat in each chair ahead of time to ensure that all would be able to see the large screen for the presentations.

Too bad nearly half of the Nations had decided not to show up at all.

It was perhaps a bit telling of the global atmosphere that his greatest annoyance with the absentees wasn't, well, their absence. He was only annoyed that they hadn't had the decency to actually call or email him to let him know that they would not be coming. Simple manners, just simple manners! Was that really too much to ask for?

When it came right down to it, China was _glad_ so many of them hadn't shown up. Last night he'd dreamt again and once more that familiar feminine voice had been pleading with him. _Keep __**them**__ out!_ The voice had been so desperate, and there was a decided sense of urgency that'd lurked beneath her words. China had woken up with a terrible start from that dream, heart racing and his fingers all but twitching to get to a phone to call off the conference himself. So no, he wasn't upset that people hadn't come. Not at all. It was a pity so many _had_ come… for he felt it robbed him of a reason to call the meeting off.

'_The seating chart was a waste of time as well...'_ This he noted with less annoyance and a feeling more akin to suspicion. Nations had seemed to gravitate together regardless of where they were 'supposed' to be sitting. It wasn't difficult to see how the Nations had chosen to sit… however… it only made China that much more unsettled. The Nations weren't sitting together based on mere friendships; they didn't cluster in alliances from various wars. The Nations were sitting in clusters according to _family_.

Of course, China and his Asian family were guilty of this as well. When he'd woken up this morning, he'd been surprised to find not only Japan waiting for him outside the conference hall, but the rest of his siblings. It was a bit amazing, all of them there, waiting for him. Watching him. _Looking to him for guidance_. He'd asked them on impulse how they'd all slept, and while none had mentioned any dreams, all had confessed to him, each in their own styles and personality, that they'd not slept well.

They'd all arranged their seats around him, and while China was indeed filled with a sort of pleased warmth at having his family around him, it was frightening all the same. It was frightening that something was scaring them all enough to push aside old bitter hurts, it was frightening that upon instinct they all seemed to be huddling together for some sort of protection. China shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts and return his attention to the meeting he was holding here. He opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. His brows pulled together and he cleared his throat, having felt a strange flutter in his chest. He reached up to rub at it discreetly. He cast his eyes down to Japan, who was seated directly beside him.

Japan's eyes weren't looking at China however, which made the older Nation believe Japan must not have felt what he had. His younger brother was instead looking down the table at America with veiled emotion. The younger Nation was sitting alone, wait no… there was someone there beside him… and shoving snacks carelessly into his mouth without stopping. China noted that the young Nation had actually collected a rather large pile of the snacks, helping himself to the ones that should have been for the absent Nations.

'_That's strange, why would America be sitting there and not…?'_ China let his eyes dart to where England sat with Ireland and his other more direct siblings. Didn't England consider America like a little brother? Should they not be together? Even _Sealand_, who China knew he had not invited, was tucked close to England's side as if the Nation feared leaving him alone.

He considered for a moment that perhaps America was too young to sense the darkness of the situation yet too old to be tugged about by a guardian. He'd certainly fought very hard not to have someone watching over him any longer. Perhaps he wasn't being affected by this strange feeling of dread and fear. It didn't make sense though, for if America were fine, then he'd surely be his typical normal and boisterous self, trying to hog the attention of the world and sticking his nose into everyone's business. On the other hand though, wouldn't a distressed America be just as loud? Wouldn't he make a fuss and call for all of the Nations to unite in some sort of ridiculous plan to stop the evil under the leadership of 'the hero'? Isolation wasn't a card America had tried to play in quite some time, and it was surely one he'd never played well.

China turned his eyes away, chiding himself. Shuffling his meeting notes in his hand, he tried to calm his fraying nerves and hold the attention of the others assembled. He had better things to do than try to puzzle out the motivations of that brash child, right? Of course, ignoring the actions of a 'superpower' wasn't wise either, but it seemed Japan was intent on keeping his eye on the Nation. China would trust Japan to understand America for now, and he instead would watch the other Nations.

It seemed most of South America had chosen not to come; only Brazil and Chile seated at the table. Much like America and… the Nation next to him… they sat alone socializing with no others. Switzerland and Liechtenstein weren't present, and neither were the two Italys now that China thought about it. He blinked, staring at Germany who was seated by Austria. It was… it was very strange not to see him with the rather exuberant North Italy at his side. China had almost expected to see the blond Nation more relaxed at that and yet… Germany did not look well.

That Nation was always rather fair of skin, but he looked downright ghastly in complexion. Though his brows were not knit in the constant patient frustration he wore with North Italy, there was a decided line furrowed between his blue eyes. It was as if he were suffering some sort of very deep and devastating headache. China could see the way the man fought to keep his posture rigid and upright, could almost feel the effort it was taking not to give in to some sort of internal pain and curl in on himself. _'Germany is ill? I haven't heard of any overwhelming troubles in his country… nothing for him to look like this.'_

"Regarding the matter of international debts aru…" China spoke, working to continue on with the meeting despite the fact that his mind was focused far from it. The Asian Nation could tell no one here was interested. Hell, if they were listening at all he'd be surprised. He guessed that, if he were in their position, there would be only one thing he'd be listening for. Some sort of clue to the massive emotional elephant in the room. If he hadn't been hosting the conference, he knew the only reason he could have been drawn to a world meeting. It would have only been the hope of having this situation finally explained.

Sadly, of course, he could provide no answers. Ancient as he was, he had no answers for any of the Nations here. He had no answers for his family. He felt ashamed at his ignorance of the situation. Surely he should understand the signs they were all seeing? Certainly he should have experienced something like this, yes? His words trailed off without his knowing, his brows creasing in deep thought. There _were_ no signs for them to be watching however… and China was decently certain that nothing like this had ever happened. _'Not in my time… could this be that much older?'_ It was enough to leave his nerves cold.

Lost to reverie, the room went silent except for whispered and muted conversations around the table and the sound of America's insatiable and ill-mannered munching. There was a pressure building in the room, everyone could feel it yet tried to ignore it subconsciously. China put his notes down on the table, leaning forward and shutting his eyes. The pressure in the room was building even more, and it seemed as if it were lodging in his head and behind his eyes. He pressed his hands to the table, mind furiously trying to decipher this.

'_If I could just understand this! I need to know! How do I not know?'_ He could feel the despair corrupting into panic, worrying and blaming himself for something that had not happened yet. Guilt was piling onto his chest, guilt for wounds and hurts inflicted on his family that hadn't even happened occurred He felt the need to drop to his knees, to cover his head and beg… _beg_… for whatever this was not to happen. _'Stay away from my family!'_ He shouted it in his mind over and over. _'Stay out of my home! Stay away and stay out!'_ In his mind his voice was starting to merge with the pleading female voice of his dreams.

'_Send them away, I have to send them away and keep them all out! Otherwise he'll-'_

China didn't have the chance to finish the thought before _it_ happened. Like some sort of collective hive-mind, the Nations present all jolted. Some let out anguished gasps; others were actually stricken to the point of shouting and collapsing from their chairs. It was as if a great quake seized them all, shaking them violently like a rag in the maws of a rabid dog. China blinked and choked for air, looking at his siblings in worry as they all reacted to this strange sensation.

It was then that it _really_ hit them all. Like the floodgates of Armageddon opening wide, a crushing roar filled the room, mercilessly beating upon their ears and minds. Savage fury screamed into them, aggressive and challenging, a dominating nightmare that would subdue them in its overwhelming fury. The sound echoed through their ears and minds, a grating sound, worse than a thousand screeching gears, more nerve shattering than the highest pitched of sounds. The intensity of the noise was so fierce it was nearly blinding, stealing all ability to breathe or think from those in the room.

All were left stricken, fallen to the floor or slumped to the tables as the sound continued to rampage over them, crushing them with intangible authority. Heads ached and even limbs seemed to twist and writhe, reducing the proud Nations to nothing but contorting masses of pain. The force of it all ripped into them deeply, darkly, tearing at their very hearts and cores. It sundered false attempts at bravery; it shredded confidence and the will to fight back. Crushing, conquering, and commanding. The force would not be denied.

It would not be ignored.

It would no longer be silent.

It was awake.

As swiftly as it'd hit them, the Nations were released, gasping out a breath in near perfect synchronization. No one could even think to speak as they all lie there, curling up or rolling over, their bodies moving on instinct to recover. China could feel his heart hammering in his chest, raw and frantic, almost painful as it forced the blood through his body. His fingers shook so terribly that they ached, his stomach roiling and threatening to reject his breakfast. There was a ringing in his ears that destroyed his balance and left him crouched on the ground, his head throbbing at the aftershock of the onslaught.

Before the inevitable chaos could erupt in the room, China forced to his feet. His body lurched, nearly sending him to the floor again but he fought it. He fought the weakness that tore at him with invisible claws. He clenched his teeth, lips pulling back and baring them. Protective fury washed into his eyes, and he slammed his hand down onto the table. Only barely could he register the other Nations working to recover, his eyes though seeing were all but blind to everything but his one desire. His family, his land, his people and his country. He was going to protect them!

"Get out aru!" His voice was loud, vicious almost, anger and promised malice to those who challenged him running through it. He had no desire to play the benevolent cheerful Nation here. He would not be the easy going one now. China felt cornered, and he would assert his strength until he was assured things were safe. Perhaps he was being irrational, but that attack had left little room for rational thought. "This meeting is over aru! This conference is over! I want all of you out!" His family was of course excluded in the savage banishing of Nations, it being only too obvious though unspoken. Shaking yet standing tall, China could feel sweat clinging to his body beneath his clothes. Shaking, he just couldn't stop shaking.

He was terrified, plain and simple, and he still didn't know the precise cause. _'I'm going to find out too soon… I wish it wouldn't happen.'_

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Prussia hadn't felt like this in _ages_. Wild almost feral energy raced through his veins, as if setting his crimson eyes ablaze with frenzied adrenaline. His body, that body that'd felt gutted and hollow after losing his status as a Nation, suddenly felt completely filled with strength. He was brimming with vitality and pure unadulterated vigor. He flexed his fingers as he stalked along, letting his tongue slip through his lips before licking them hungrily. His chest was heaving, lungs greedily pulling in deep breaths of air. The way he drew in each breath almost sounded like a snarl, and the thought of it made him pause and laugh.

He narrowed his eyes, pulling for composure but absolutely enthralled with the way he was feeling. Oh he'd never _ever_ say thank you for this, no matter how glorious this feeling was. He'd never say thank you, because this was how he _should_ feel… this was how he was _supposed_ to feel. He was awesome, Prussia knew it, and he told everyone around him so _they_ knew it. His greatness was an indisputable fact, a constant in the universe even! The only way he could have felt more perfect, more complete, was if he were an actual Nation again. Then… then he'd be perfect, wouldn't he? He'd be beyond greatness, beyond awesome. He'd be… _Greatawsome_… or… _Awesogreat_… or… some other word that would need to be invented to even attempt to describe his glory.

Prussia had _forgotten_ that he could feel like this. His confidence and ego had no doubt been cemented long ago when this state was normal for him. He knew once he headed home… if he'd be heading home, he'd certainly be pulling open his earliest of journals. He didn't read the very first ones too often anymore, for the earliest ones didn't have fun moments with the likes of Hungary and Austria in them. Now however, with his memory jogged like this… perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea to give them a read. Oh how the other Nations would beg him for the information in his journals!

He wasn't at home though, and he wasn't in China for the conference either. Call it a blessing of no longer being a Nation if you wanted. Some days Prussia certainly did. Though he'd served his country with utter excellence and perfection back in the day, to be completely frank, mundane things like meetings and paperwork weren't his favorite activities. He was a Nation born for combat, to fight, to _win_.

'_I can't believe I'd forgotten just __**how**__ true that is…_'

That pain, that noise… that overwhelming pressure that'd assaulted him and even knocked his awesome self to the ground… it'd been like a massive wake-up call. Oh it'd pissed him off, made him furious that anything could apparently knock him off his feet, and there'd be hell to pay to the source for it. Yet at the same time… that ferocious roar of awakening had jarred Prussia out of his modern haze. It'd made him remember, and it'd liberated a side of him he hadn't paid attention to in so _very_ long. Now was precisely the time to snap to attention though.

He was in Ravenna currently, walking the streets like a wolf on the hunt. He'd felt drawn to Italy, the land itself and not his little brother's little buddy, for the past few months now. He'd only actually left Germany to come here perhaps a week prior. Since setting foot in the other country's borders, he'd been pretty quiet really. He hadn't caused a fuss, hadn't caused any sort of scene. He knew his brother would be dumbfounded by his good behavior, so of course Prussia would have to brag about it later. Much later. While Germany went and played the good respectable Nation and continued to _forget_… Prussia… Prussia would do his duty.

Even he'd been baffled by the strange wave of anxiety that'd been washing over the earth lately, yet unlike the other Nations he'd had more of a sense of what was causing it. It wasn't until now, after that roar, that everything had cemented in his head. Prussia knew the source of everyone's ill ease… he knew it now. _'It's up to me to stop it… time to succeed where I messed up last time. Time to make __**him**__ proud.'_

"Are you here? Is this where you woke up? Or do I need to go somewhere else? To Istanbul maybe?" He laughed darkly beneath his breath, grinning wide. No one was around him, but quite honestly Prussia wouldn't have cared if there were humans listening in on him right now. "Nah… you wouldn't be in Istanbul… you'd be here… here or maybe…"

The albino trailed off, words dying on his lips as his grin cemented into pure aggressive satisfaction. Cracking his knuckles in anticipation, he could feel adrenaline begin to course through his veins, setting his nerves and making him even bolder. It was so nice when everything came together like this. It was so nice to feel justified in his actions again. It felt so nice to finally see a battle before him, to feel a challenge staring him in the face.

"Found ya," he said glibly, his voice deep and grating.

His target paused in its walk, turning slowly to face him. It wasn't as tall as Prussia remembered which disappointed him greatly. The ex-Nation wasn't one for an easy win really (even if he was so awesome that _every_ win was obviously easy). However, Prussia was quite a bit taller than he'd been when he'd seen it last, and this entity was no doubt only a shadow of what it'd been before. _'How the times have changed,'_ he laughed inwardly.

Brown eyes stared back at him in something that seemed like a daze, sloppy brown hair framing a face scruffy and coated in stubble. Antiquated clothes hung about a body that looked muscular yet diminished. It was a husk… just a husk. This creature before him wasn't a Nation anymore either, it had no people or land filling him up. Weakness, Prussia could see weakness radiating off of this being, and it made him sneer. Somehow it was just so frustrating to know that this thing before him used to be so powerful. It was as if it stood as an example of how absolutely pitiful they could all become.

He didn't let his guard down, though. This thing reeked of something pitiful… yet… the dire atmosphere of the world couldn't have been for nothing. They'd all been sensing danger, and then this one had awoken with a terrifying roar. Prussia knew he had to be missing something, so it was best to be ready. It was enough to make him hesitate in caution at any rate.

Those dazed eyes seemed to focus on him a bit more, and Prussia could see the first tendrils of thought passing through those brown orbs. The figure seemed to cock its head to the side, just slightly, before a wistful smile that was too creepily like North Italy's broke onto its face. "I remember you… your eyes… those eyes. I remember you." The figure seemed to perk up further, cheer bubbling off him in disconcerting waves. "You've gotten so big now, but I'm sure you can't compare to them… you must have seen them, my cute little grandsons…"

Prussia frowned, the glee of an upcoming battle melting off his face. This wasn't how he remembered this figure at all… this wasn't the conqueror… this wasn't the Emperor. This… this just seemed like cute little Italy after some steroids and a few very hard years. Shaking it off, Prussia persisted. "You sure you're remembering right? I wouldn't be smilin' if I were you… if you really remember!" He laced his voice with venom, with the threat of violence. Something in his mind told him to forget this small talk and just attack now. Waiting would only breed trouble. Prussia knew that and yet this situation felt wrong to him. He was missing something here.

Lips curved further, widening that smile on the other's face. The threat obviously hadn't phased him at all. "Hey, I'm looking for my darling grandsons…" the other began, completely ignoring the previous statement. He took a step towards Prussia, who refused to retreat even an inch. "You would know them, wouldn't you?" As the figure continued to approach the albino, some of the muddled sweetness seemed to leak away from his voice. "Yes… you would know them… tell me where they are ok?" There was still something friendly in that voice, but now… now something else was coming out. "Grandpa really needs to see them…"

The smile looked cracked, the eyes barely concealing a piercing hunger that distorted a previously cheerful face. Prussia felt his heart race, and his muscles start to burn from readiness. The figure kept closing the distance, that mocking innocence falling off like a peeling second skin. The weakness… it was shedding the weakness. Prussia's mind reeled with the realization. _'He'd been holding back! He hid his strength from me…'_ Oh the curses and vulgarity that ran through his head at that realization.

The albino didn't have more than a moment to react before the other man lunged at him. Their bodies collided, and it felt like Prussia had been hit by a truck. The air was slammed from his lungs as he fell back, the other pinning him down. With a cough and a snarl, Prussia was fighting him off. _'Oh no, I'm not that easy!'_ A well placed knee to the man's stomach gave Prussia the space he needed to scramble to his feet, and no sooner had he done so before he rounded on his opponent. He hooked a quick punch to the man's jaw, following it up with roundhouse kick to the other's side.

The grunts of pain he heard in response were thrilling, fueling Prussia's body, filling him with wild energy. He was unrelenting as he continued on, bringing his booted foot up to shove the man to the ground, laughing manically all the while. Standing over the man, he stomped his foot down on his gut again and again. Damn this felt good, damn this felt so good! _'Redemption, revenge, that's what this is!'_ As his leg assaulted the body below him, Prussia's hands all but itched. A blade… he wanted a blade… he needed to-

"You really did grow stronger…" The voice was completely out of place, coming up from such an abused body. Serene words… simple words… kind words…

Prussia's body turned to ice, and his leg refused to move. Red eyes looked down into deep brown, trapped by what he saw. The Ancient wasn't simply looking at him with kindness. No… in those eyes, Prussia could see it. Remorse and guilt for a sin committed in the past, admiration for the strength Prussia had grown into… and regret. Regret for the atrocities the Ancient one would be committing now that he was once more awake. It was a sane look, though sorrowful. It was a look that asked Prussia, almost pleaded… that if he could do it, if he could stop him… to do it now.

'_Kill me… before the madness returns to my blood… before I kill you all.'_

Prussia didn't hesitate. He was bred for this; combat was his life and his gift. His body tensed and flexed as it coiled into action, rushing down to punch the male on the ground without mercy.

He didn't hesitate.

He simply wasn't fast enough.

Whatever sort of clarity had been in his opponent's eyes vanished as he rolled out of the way, Prussia's swift punch striking only the hard ground, a terrible cracking noise piercing the air as bone and concrete alike fractured. Much to the ex-Nation's disgust, his hand bore more signs of damage than the ground. He snarled, cursing under his breath at the pain. His crimson eyes stayed focused though, his body instincts singing at him, warning of the blow as it was coming.

His opponent had his hands on him in moment, grabbing him and flipping him to the ground. Prussia coughed hard, trying to get up. His body was flipped over instead, a heavy foot kicking him onto his stomach. The man's sudden grip on his arm and the sandaled foot pressing onto his back denied his efforts to rise as he was pinned. Prussia struggled, the albino nowhere near giving up here. _'If I can just break his balance I can-'_

His thoughts were cut off as he suddenly let out a scream despite himself, feeling his arm wrenched back. Trapped on his stomach by this powerful male, the albino shuddered in pain as he felt his arm being twisted and pried and pulled up, as if his opponent was trying to rip his arm right from the socket. There was a horrible popping noise, a sickening grinding as his arm was pulled and twisted this way and that, muscle and sinew snapping as his arm was yanked and turned in ways the body never intended. "Y-You… you're… having fun… aren't you?" Prussia had a smile on his face despite the pain, never one to give his enemy the satisfaction of seeing him suffer completely.

The other man gave another vicious yank, the heel of his foot grinding into Prussia's spine, digging into it as if he were filth to be ground into the dirt. "I would devour you…" came the voice above him, and the ex-Nation felt his eyes widen at the words, struggling harder to escape. "… but what would be the point? You… I smell no strength on you… I see no connection to a land or people… you are worthless… you are a drain… you aren't worth my time…"

The pale haired man couldn't help but snarl, his eyes radiating with hate. This pissed Prussia off, hearing _this man_ of all people saying that. _'Who the hell does he think he is? We're not that different!'_ There was another fierce yank, and pain flared through Prussia's body, so hot and intense it made his vision blur and his mind go white in a stunned agony. He felt a sound choke and strangle past his lips, coughing as his senses fought to return to him.

He knew he needed to get up, he knew he needed to beat this man. He couldn't feel the fingers in the arm the man held anymore, everything below that shoulder dead to him. A glance showed that it was still attached, though the bloody stain that bloomed from his shoulder promised the arm could rip away at any moment. Honestly… Prussia wasn't too concerned about his arm. Hell, even if he only had one he'd be awesome. Maybe even more so.

It was just the defeat he wouldn't tolerate. He was way too cool for that, the superior being here even if, to the untrained eye, it looked like he was losing. Prussia knew differently. He knew he didn't lose. He knew it so much no one else needed to know it. He knew it for them.

"Say… won't you tell me where my grandsons are now?" There was that tone creeping back, that harmless friendly tone. Prussia wouldn't be fooled though. It was only a mask, just a mask for the madness. He wasn't going to sell out his little brother's buddy and the disagreeable older brother just like that.

Taking in a sharp breath, the albino planted his good hand on the ground, gritting his teeth. Without any further warning, he gave a sudden jolting push, finally able to drag a knee up for leverage. With all the strength he had left in his body he pushed and turned, gaining his feet and reaching for the ratty old fabric covering his opponent's chest. The other let go of his arm for just a moment as he stumbled for balance, and that was all the time Prussia needed. Spinning his body, pivoting on his heel, Prussia threw the other with all his might, sending him crashing into an unfortunate car that was driving by.

There was a honking of horns, the sound of tires screeching and metal hitting metal. The albino didn't care, what was the big deal if there was some collateral damage? His blood pumping and adrenaline lighting his veins on fire, Prussia rushed forward. He kept one arm holding to his shoulder, ignoring the way his other arm hung at an awkward angle. He ignored also the uneven lurching steps his feet took. He licked his lips, anticipation dancing on his skin like electricity as he tried to locate where his opponent had fallen. He scanned through the car accident he'd caused, looking this way and that. Where… where was he?

"Shit!" Prussia cursed when he realized the other must have fled. He snarled and stomped his foot, not at all concerned about the confused and distressed Italian citizens trying to make sense of the situation. He turned and started to stalk away from the accident, cursing.

'_He escaped… he escaped… I can't believe it! Has he become such a coward that he runs now? This wasn't what the roar promised!'_ Prussia continued to cradle his arm, furious at this turn of events. If he wanted to heal this wound as quickly as possible… he'd need to go home… he'd need to be with his brother and ask for his support. He couldn't channel their people anymore… if he wanted to benefit from their strength it had to be at Germany's discretion. He wondered briefly if West had figured out the situation yet, or if his memories were still gone. So many things had to happen, was there any time for it all?

'_I don't want to lose the trail though… I… shit.'_ Even he had to admit when he wasn't in the right shape to fight. He wasn't a fiend on the battlefield for nothing. Combat was like breathing to him, second nature and almost essential. When it came to war and bloodshed, Prussia was no fool. _'He better not find them before I get my hands on him…'_

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

While of course they would be taking separate flights home, Canada and America were sitting at the airport together, their terminals right next to each other. Amazingly, America had been pretty quiet about things since that… that… _event_. It didn't take someone who knew America as well as Canada did to know this meant something was on the American's mind… but it took someone like Canada to actually have a chance of figuring it out. The northern brother knew that America could get all sorts of crazy ideas, everyone did, but Canada could often see in between those idiotic schemes. For better or worse (sometimes he honestly didn't know which), he could read America pretty well. His brother wasn't thinking of giant heroes or hair brained schemes to regulate how much someone could breathe in an hour this time.

No. America was planning something… something aggressive… something violent. It was all in his eyes really, the slight squint they held, the way they seemed to stare impossibly far ahead, right through everything. It was that tiny quirk in the corner of his lips, the start of a smile much worse than his usually brilliant one. For better or worse… when America turned aggressive… it was best to take heed. He wasn't undefeatable, oh no… but he was a damn dangerous opponent… so much strength and so many resources he was willing to pour out for the cause. All in. No holds barred. Unload everything and then some. It made Canada shake his head.

"America," he said softly, his own natural timidity mixing with the need to keep their identities secret when seated near so many regular humans. Yes, they were still in China and he was speaking English, but the language was too wide spread to chance it. It was a shame that America's French had grown so rusty. His brother, seated carelessly beside him, didn't seem to hear him.

While Canada sat at the edge of his seat, his legs bent tightly beneath his chair and his arms around his carry on bag (it wasn't really that appropriate to take Kumajiro to meetings like this… even if sometimes he caved in and did so), America looked all but sprawled out. His legs were stretched out far in front of him, his head hanging back over the chair while his arms draped over the back as well. They might share physical features, but the way the two composed themselves was very different.

"America… _brother_!" Canada tried again, feeling more confident in saying brother at a higher volume. America, who'd apparently been chewing on some loose skin on his lip, merely gave a grunt. Canada sighed. "Brother… please tell me you're not planning to do anything stupid…" It was a pretty foolish thing to say, Canada realized, considering who he was talking to. Who was he kidding? America… _not_ do something completely rash and idiotic when faced with… with…

Just what _had_ that been? The Canadian didn't really want to remember it, that terrible roaring sound that'd knocked the entire conference off its feet. All of them, every single Nation, had been reduced to a useless heap, lumps of pain and terror and panic on the floor. Belatedly Canada had wished that some semblance of order could have been found, that they could have sat about and discussed what had happened _reasonably_. The culmination of all the troubled feelings they'd been having was upon them… and they missed their chance to figure it out.

If only China hadn't kicked them all out. If only some of the older Nations had stopped to set up times to meet and talk. Canada had tried to pitch such an idea, but _of course_ no one heard him. No one heard his soft voice, no one saw him standing tall, waving for their attention. Well, America had seen him, possibly because he'd accidentally hit him in the face while waving, but even _he'd_ been unable to rouse any sort of response from the older Nations (not that Canada felt his brother had tried very hard). Even France had left in a hurry without even checking on them, England seeming as if he didn't even know America existed.

Whatever was going on, it seemed like the older Nations were reacting the strongest… and yet… to Canada's mind it all seemed rather instinctive, emotion driven. It was weird. He shouldn't be the one trying to reign in the others, should he? But he wanted answers, and he was far too young to have them. That meant he'd need to pin down _someone_ eventually. He only hoped that perhaps in a few days or so, France would be calm enough to come to him and explain. Canada raked a hand through his wavy blond hair. _'Hopefully a couple of days won't be too late.'_

An announcement chimed through the terminal, alerting Canada that his plane was going to begin boarding soon. It made his heart leap to know he'd be returning soon. He wasn't immune to the strange homing instinct that seemed to be flooding through the Nations. Canada knew he'd feel much better when he was home, standing upon his own soil, soaking up the strength of his people. He knew he'd feel so much safer back home, in his sprawling country that was somehow all but invisible to the world. Home… yes, it was better if he went home.

Standing, he couldn't shake the feeling that America was going to do something foolish, and he looked with great worry down at his brother. America seemed to be in his own little world, staring at the ceiling of the terminal, mind no doubt working overtime on… something. "Brother? Promise, ok?" Canada cautiously moved his leg, nudging America with his foot (and eventually kicking him in the shin) to get a response.

America snapped to attention as if he'd just been woken up. "Eh, huh, what was that now?" Confusion blinked over his face, for a moment washing away the expression that'd been troubling the Canadian. America's blue eyes seemed to clear for a moment, and he tossed that Hollywood grin at his brother. "Oh yeah sure, of course!" He punctuated his words with a 'thumbs up' gesture. Canada sighed, smiling and shaking his head.

"Do you even know what you agreed to?" At least America had the sense to look a bit sheepish.

"Nope." Honestly, Canada could just shake his brother he frustrated him so much! Drawing himself up straighter and attempting to put a serious look on his face, Canada locked his eyes to America.

"Don't. Do. Anything. Stupid." America's mouth shot open, ready to protest immediately, but Canada knew better than to let him get started. He'd brought America to tears with his words before, he'd do it again if it curbed some of his loud brother's bad ideas! "I'm serious! Whatever's going on, I think it's best you get home to your country and your people, make sure they're safe." He kept his voice as low as he could while still being sure America would be able to hear him.

"I'm going to try to contact France… but please America, go home, try to call England… we'll meet up and talk about this in a few days, ok? Just don't do anything rash, think this through…" Canada trailed off when he heard another reminder to board broadcast over the speakers of the terminal. His hands tensed and he gave a pleading look to his brother. America looked down at his lap, and Canada was about to turn to leave, to take that as a sign of submission. His brother's voice barely reached his ears, but the words froze him in his tracks.

"There's nothing to protect bro… nothin' at all." America looked back up at him, and that expression was back on his face. It was aggressive… hungering… almost feral. It made Canada shiver inwardly.

"What do you mean… and… how would you know… do you…" As the northern brother tried to get out his thoughts, America simply shook his head. An almost wistful look broke into those sky blue eyes as Canada's brother looked away for a moment.

"Man… I want it so bad… I gotta be number one… I gotta be… I'm the hero!" America's body had tensed during his ramble, though slouched quickly at the end of his words. Canada felt a sinking feeling in his gut, his throat feeling thick and dry with each swallow. He took a step forward, but suddenly America was grinning at him again.

"Hey bro, ya better hurry! You're gonna miss your flight!" It happened again, suddenly America was all smiles and simplicity, and Canada was left confused and unsettled and worried as ever.

"Please tell me you're going to get on your flight brother," Canada's voice was almost pleading, letting all of his anxieties and worries out. There was no reason to hide his troubled emotions from his brother, not when he knew that somewhere inside America hated to see Canada unhappy. It seemed to strike at least some sort of nerve, for the wavy haired brother saw the other flinch just slightly, guilt on his face.

"Go on bro… your flight…" America's evasion of the topic was poor, they both knew it, and they both knew he was all but declaring he was staying here. America sighed and met his brother's gaze again, and Canada was impressed by the seriousness in those eyes. "Please… go home… it'll be safer for you there… kay?"

Canada's lips pulled into a tight tense line, his displeasure clear. If his idiot brother was staying here, he should too! Then they could tackle this together… then perhaps Canada could force America to explain whatever wild notions had crept into his head. _'Right… me… force HIM!'_ He frowned and began to fret, warring his options in his mind before sighing in defeat.

"Fine, America… I'm going… but promise me you'll call me if you need me… and I'll call you once I know what's going on." His voice was as stern as he could make it, and America tossed him a lopsided grin.

"Roger that, it's a deal." At least this time when America spoke, he sounded honest. It was the best Canada could do for now he supposed. Giving an awkward wave goodbye, which was returned by his brother, the Canadian started his way towards the boarding gates for his flight. As he walked towards his destination, his mind raced. Really… should he go home? Behind his glasses, Canada's eyes grew troubled and dark. The doors of the gates loomed before him, and he knew he had only seconds to decide what he'd do.

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Romano held his brother's hand like his life depended on it as he dragged the younger behind him. While swears and curses punctuated his gasping breaths, behind him he could hear Veneziano whine and whimper as he struggled to keep up. It only pissed Romano off, though he knew it wasn't exactly fair to fault his brother for exhibiting such open terror. Veneziano had always been better about being open with his emotions, unlike him who covered it up with unpleasantries and a bad attitude. He felt just as scared as his brother looked and sounded… he just didn't have the time to act like it right now!

"H-He's co-coming~" Behind him his brother all but wailed the words, tears streaking down his face, hand trembling in Romano's. The older brother ignored the fact that his own eyes stung with tears that were _not_ falling from his own eyes.

"Damn!" He cursed, pulling harder and trying to run even faster with his brother in tow. Honestly, Romano didn't even know where they were going, where they were running _to_. Quite frankly, all he knew was that they were running _away_. Getting away was the most important thing right now… it was the only thing! The need to escape and hide sang over his nerves, it ran over his skin like ice and burned at his gut like a raging flame. The pain he'd felt from the dream last night had only grown worse after that roar… oh god that roar! That sound, that pressure that… that…

'_He's coming for us! He's coming after us and he's almost on us!'_ All Romano wanted to do was fall to his knees, look up to the sky and curse everything and everyone he could think of for the situation he was in. He could only understand bits and pieces of it, but what he knew for certain was that it would be the end of him. He was going to die… if he was caught he was going to die. Him and Veneziano… they'd both be destroyed! He remembered the pain from the nightmare and it laced through him again, forcing him to gasp, losing hold of his brother as he crashed to his knees.

"S-Shit…" His body began to gag and heave from the intensity of the pain, his eyes prickling with tears he _refused_ to shed. The pain… the agony… oh god why did it hurt so much? He wrapped his arms about himself as he doubled over, gasping and choking as if at any moment he'd fall apart. Dimly he heard a strangled cry of suffering, and for a moment he thought it had to have come from his lips. It hadn't though, it'd come from Veneziano… Veneziano who was a perfect mirror of his pain and suffering, also on his knees and hugging himself. Holding himself together.

Where could they go? How could they escape this? The instinct and will to survive still lived inside of Romano, the impulse to escape beating its wings in his heart without mercy. Go… go… they had to go! They'd be harder to find if they weren't in Italy… but where would be _safe?_ It couldn't be Germany, absolutely not! From the depths of his soul he knew never to trust that potato bastard, he knew deep down the blond was nothing but trouble and danger! Germany was definitely off the list.

Spain then? Would Spain hide them? Shelter them? Would he take Romano and Veneziano into his House and protect them? _'Is he even strong enough?'_ Romano struggled to his feet, coughing and groaning but pushing through the pain that stung every nerve in his body. Like an obedient dog, his brother struggled to rise as well. They needed to keep moving, and hell… even _France_ seemed like a good choice to escape to now. Just as long as someone could keep them safe, so long as-

"I found you at last! Oh my cute little grandsons… oh you've grown up to be so adorable!" The enthusiastic and cheerful voice sliced through Romano like a knife, stealing his breath away and causing his body to feel dizzy and light. With the jittery slowness of a rusting machine, Romano turned his head to the source of the voice, his eyes going wide as they beheld the origin.

Hope, hope seemed to seize his chest for a moment as he stared at the male's face, as he looked into eyes that seemed so joyous and happy. The figure stared at him with warmth, with great pleasure at seeing him, and yet there it was… that flicker. _'Disappointment.'_ The other had realized which of his grandsons he was staring at, and as ever, he had no great love to offer to Romano. It curled the southern Italian's insides for a moment, fueling him with anger that intensified into jealousy when the eyes moved to his brother. _'You still favor him!'_ He ground his teeth, looking at Veneziano who looked as if he almost wished to rush over and hug the newcomer.

"G-Grandpa… Rome…? Y-You…" Romano winced as Veneziano's voice pitched and squeaked painfully, he winced at the war of emotions conveyed. Romano knew what his twin was feeling… he was feeling it too. _'Please… just be… don't be…'_ Their grandfather began to approach them slowly; arms wide as if to embrace them in a hug, smile wide on his lips and a decided spring in his step.

"My darling grandsons… I've been waiting to meet you two again… and how cute you've grown up to be!" There was a sparkle in those eyes, or perhaps it was a storm. It sent a shiver through Romano, echoed in his younger brother. Still their grandfather advanced, the spring falling from his steps and that cheer melting away inch by inch. Romano's heart beat wildly in his chest, so painfully that his lungs seemed to burn and burst as his breathing became impossible to manage. Trembling… if he could only stop the trembling in his body.

A cry of despair erupted from his twin's lips, and now Romano was the one being pulled. He struggled with the northern Italian not to trip at the sudden tug, and then they were running again, as fast as they could and away. It hurt, it hurt so much it made Romano dizzy, it felt like the blood pumping through his veins would burst through the blood vessels in his head, would fracture and break through his very skull! The only part of his body that didn't hurt, the only place free of this maddening pain, was where his hand held to Veneziano's. _'Closer… closer… you must… once more… you will be…'_

A dead end reared its ugly head before them, cutting off all hope and all chance of escape. "Damn it! No!" Romano couldn't even see through the tears that curled from his eyes in hot streams, could barely choke and scream out words as he coughed and hacked. This wall before them, this stupid idiotic wall! He pounded his free hand against it, slamming his fist upon it over and over and not caring when his skin went raw, when bruising muscle was covered with fresh blood. Slamming upon the trapping structure over and over, he painted his frustration to the wall with his life's fluid, he painted a graffiti of his plight against the merciless object.

"R-Romanoooo…" Veneziano's voice was a despairing keen, a sound so pitiful and awful, a voice that had given up. Turning his head, Romano's heart broke as well, seeing the end of them approaching with such glad happy strides.

"Damn… it…" His voice broke, and as one the brothers turned to cling to each other. They wrapped their arms and pressed close, both crying openly and staring wide eyed at their grandfather, no… at their…

"My son…" the Ancient of Rome supplied, his voice low and snarling. All pretense of kindness vanished from Rome's face as he moved in closer, as his sandaled feet stalked them. The twins were frozen where they were, clutching each other so tightly, beyond the point of begging, knowing all too well what must follow. What had been the Roman Empire paused, staring at the pair with wild eyes, before he tore at his garments. He pulled them aside to reveal a scar, such a terrible scar. It had festered; it had turned color and grown putrid. The infection spread like a blight from the source.

"I have not finished with your punishment…"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

I feel the need to remind everyone again that this is AU (yes, I'm being very lame and anxious over this). Intentional historical butchery is in progress here, this is just a twisted mirror of the Hetalia world we know. Sorry if it hurts anyone's soul.

Anyway, sorry to leave with a cliffhanger of sorts, especially with as slow as I update this fic! It was, however, the best place to leave off.


	3. Chapter 3

_The betrayal was inevitable. Fangs were bared against the father and blood spilled across the ground._

_There was no love shared between the Roman Empire and Germania, yet swiftly he sent his sons to defend the alpha. It was not to save him; it was to deny the traitor that all too powerful body and blood as feast. They were tiny yet those sons of Germania, hardly more than mere children to the eyes, yet rush forward without question they did, loyal to their father. They were not as the Roman Empire's son._

_While the son of the Roman Empire fought like a wild brute, sinking his teeth deep within his sire and drawing forth his life blood, Germania's sons opposed him with discipline and daring. They bore weapons at the frenzied creature, bearing down on him with steal swords and iron will. They wounded him deeply, fighting bravely yet unmatching in strength. Though there were two, only the son of the Roman Empire had the backing of people, only he had the strength of the land tied to him. _

_Germania realized his error, and rose up to assist his sons._

_He was not the only one to do so._

_A father was a fearsome sight when his offspring was in danger. No matter what that child had done._

_With madness that resembled the old days in his eyes, the wounded Roman Empire defended his child, his impressive power forcing back Germania and his brood. He spat his fury at the betrayal he'd seen this day, yet his fevered eyes seemed not able to remember that it was his own creation that'd turned first. He fought against the opposing family as his own son lie bleeding and dying on the ground. From beyond, the other six Ancient Nations watched, eager, and wondering at the deep importance to the events they watched now._

_Germania would not die, would not withdraw, yet he could not defeat the Roman Empire. Not yet. He drew back; calling for a cease to the battle, fearful his own sons would fall._

_The Roman Empire retreated back, his blood on fire with poisoned madness. His son, his son's betrayal, it was a deep sickness inflicted on him that even he would not understand for years to come._

_Cradling his child, his so very precious child, the Roman Empire could at last see his failure. He cast his eyes to the sons of Germania, and he could see the wisdom with which the other had created his heirs. With bloodshot eyes and a heavy heart, the Roman Empire tore his son in two, reducing him to mere lumps of flesh, crafting him into tiny formless monsters as he sat and brooded through his insanity._

_The others watched on, afraid to make any suggestions, afraid to tell the Roman Empire to simply destroy the little beasts. They'd seen the fury with which he'd attacked Germania when his son was threatened, he had not the wits to know any differently now._

_Taking up the first half, the Roman Empire set to work, shaping and forming a new child from the flesh of his son. Carefully he stripped from it the traitorous instincts; he tore away the undesirable pieces that had led to the bloodshed of this day. Fear of the father he placed inside. He stole away the child's ability to be innocent; he ripped apart a happy deceiving smile. Fashioned in his image, the Roman Empire stared intently at his new grandchild, watched it as it grew in the first few days. Such a moody sour child it was._

_Disgusting, he'd concluded. He'd ruined it too far. He set it aside, sought to do better._

_The other half of his son was picked up next, and once again he stripped away that traitorous instinct, he tore away the undesirable pieces that would betray him. Gazing at the disappointment of his first grandson, he did not steal this one's innocence, instead breathing into him smiles and foolishness. No craft would be in his head, nothing clever to betray him. A coward like his other grandson, but oh that smile. Yes, the more he shaped him, the more the Roman Empire found his second grandson to be charming and adorable, filled with the talents the grandsire wished._

_Indeed, the Roman Empire was pleased with his second grandson. So pleased was he that when the younger held and cuddled to the older, he decided he would not remake the first again. He would not outdo his second grandson, and the first would be a fine companion for it. They were fine as they were. Two new children he'd created from the split body of his son. Two grandchildren who would inherit his empire, his throne. Two children who would inherit the sins and the future of his son._

_It seemed as though he removed the madness from them and returned it to his own heart where it must have come from. He sought to contain the fury and, most of all, he drew back to himself that fiery ambition and aggression that'd turned child against parent. It seared and burned and chewed at his core, and from his side, Germania frowned. Would the Roman Empire once more take to violent conflict and conquering? Germania would not allow this._

"_This is the end for you," Germania spoke, and the Roman Empire gave out a mirthless laugh._

"_You've not the strength to kill me, Germania… never you… never you." The Roman Empire brushed him off as if he were but a fly, ignoring him and staring at his grandsons. The babes crawled and stumble about, ignorant of the world and the situation._

_Taking up his blade, Germania made to dispute that claim, resolute steel drawing forth more crimson to spill on the land. The Roman Empire's blood fell upon his grandchildren, and they began to cry and fret. With a smile, the Roman Empire stood, leaving them where they were. His eyes met his only foe, ignoring the suffering children all around them._

"_I am tired… come… put me to sleep… until the day I should die…"_

_Germania's blade lashed out again and the Roman Empire vanished. When he sought out the grandchildren, they were gone as well. Gathering his own sons, Germania fell deep into thought._

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

England was dreaming again. He had a faint sense of it, a dim awareness of the act layered under the idyllic perfection of the world around him. Skies that were bluer than he'd ever seen in life towered above him, green grass so lush it seemed impossibly alive brushed against his legs. The air smelled fresh and clean, the scent of flowers breezing over him and through his hair. The weather was perfect, a warm sun in the sky and a mildly chilled wind caressing his skin. All around him he could hear the unrestrained and vibrant sounds of wildlife. Birds sang, small critters rustled under the cover of the tall grasses or jumped from branch to branch with tiny crackling noises.

Was this paradise? Ah no, of course not. England knew what this was, where this was, even if this place could never be seen like this ever again. Once more England was dreaming of the past, dreaming of wonderful times that _had been,_ and certainly were no longer. America… he was in America. The land was as pure and wild as it'd been the day his first ship had ever touched the shore. It was unspoiled, free, and so very… very… young.

His feet took him over the rolling landscape, under wide trees and further to peaceful open pastures. Small grazing animals darted about in the distance, and even further he saw them, the hulking forms of a creature so sadly hunted towards extinction now. If they were roaming out there… if the sun and sky and land looked like this… then perhaps…

Yes, it was just as England expected. He was dreaming of that day, of that moment. Turning his head, knowing instinctively just where to look, he saw himself standing in the fields. His clothes were of course of a time long ago, clothes that brought a nostalgic smile to his face, even if he'd certainly never wear such garb again. One moved with the times, after all.

However as the current times were anything but something he wished to think of, England let the dream sweep him away further. No doubt his mind was looking for some sort of refuge, some way to ignore what was happening out in reality. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply, trying to immerse himself into the dream further again. This moment, even if there was nothing else wrong with the world, he would always love remembering this moment.

In his past-self's arms was a tiny boy, the young America in those pristine white clothes. His former self held the boy close, holding him to his chest in his arms, smiling down at the little bundle with the blond hair. England knew, he could remember. America would be asleep in his arms right now, his little fists curled against the fabric of his shirt. He longed to hold the boy again, suddenly rather jealous of his dream self for having the privilege. _'Ah well, at least I can still relive it in some manner, remember a time when he wasn't such an insufferable fool.'_

Staring at the past, England couldn't help but wonder if he could have possibly done anything differently, if he couldn't have found some way to keep America with him, kept him from becoming what he was now.

"_Of course you could have…"_

Startled, England shifted his gaze up sharply, staring not at the sleeping America but at his dream self. Green eyes stared back at him, a mocking gaze on his face. England swallowed hard, taking a step back. While he knew that as this was a dream and not a simple memory, that things were apt to change, speaking to himself was rather odd and disorienting.

He reached up to adjust his tie, which he was apparently wearing even in his dreams. He flicked his eyes to the side, wondering if he really wanted to converse with his dream self over something that'd happened in the past and couldn't be changed.

"_It _can_ be changed though… in a manner of speaking."_

A deep scowl tore across England's face, his brows pulling together and his body going rigid as he clenched his fists. "Oh, and what would you know about it exactly?" His voice was a harsh snap, and while it wasn't lost on him how absurd it was to shout at oneself, he wasn't the sort to let anyone mock him. That included… well… his own dreaming. With a sneer on his face he crossed his arms over his chest, all but cheering for the moment to come where America would wake and rush off to play with a buffalo. Anything to see some sort of defeat come to his annoying dream self.

"_If you'd only done it then… done what you _wanted_ to, then he'd be with you still… he'd still be yours…"_

England continued to scowl, noticing that America did not seem inclined to wake up, nor were any buffalo wandering over for a good swing around. _'Of course he'd have to go and make things difficult for me even here!'_ When didn't the American cause him trouble? All the same, England kept his mouth shut, seeing no reason to argue with himself here. Despite _some_ people thinking he was loony and prone to hallucinations, England knew he was quite sane and preferred to keep it that way.

"_You may come to regret that choice,"_ the dream self spoke. England couldn't help but think him a bit of a bastard for constantly reading his mind.

He sighed, finding the dream to be stubbornly persistent. Shouldn't he be waking soon? Leveling his gaze back at his own green eyes, England shot him a rather scornful look. "Regret sounding sane? Oh yes, I'm quite certain that will come round to bite me in the arse."

His dream self only smiled, shaking his head 'no' and petting America's head. England couldn't help but want to tear that hand away.

"_Regret clinging to such a concept. Sanity… is it truly so important? Is it even real?"_

England could feel his lip curl in disgust, wondering at this. Was this really the sort of individual he was? No, no, it must be the current events making his mind toss rubbish like this at him. Surely this dream manifestation was a result of his anxieties and fears. It was that roar that'd unsettled him, yes, it must have had a deeper effect on his mind than he'd realized. That had to be the reason he was… so very obnoxious in this dream, why he was spewing such nonsense.

"_You still don't understand… my words are lost on you apparently… watch and learn, see what you are, see what you should have done… and see what you still can do…"_

His dream self lowered his gaze back to the slumbering child in his arms, and a cold chill swept across England's skin. In trepidation he watched, wondering just what his dream self would do. It shifted the sleeping youth in his arms, carefully lifting him higher, before his eyes. It looked as if he would move the child so that it could curl and rest with his head upon his shoulder, it seemed as though it would be yet another tender gesture. The dream self spared England a passing glance, his green eyes shimmering with delight.

That smile widened and cracked, the maw stretching to a gaping twisted cavern as teeth parted, only to quickly rush down to sink into the tender flesh of the little child. England screamed, taken aback as the blood spewed forth from the deep wound, watching as the child jerked awake, flinching back and literally tearing his own flesh away as he pulled away in panic. The monstrous dream self quickly snapped his jaws, flicking the torn flesh back and gobbling it up like a vulture tearing sinew from a corpse.

Arms tightened around the now wailing and bleeding child, crushing and holding it in place. The dream self lunged forward with his mouth again, crimson stained lips pulling back as tender flesh was attacked once again.

"H-Hey! Stop it! Y-You-!" England wasn't even thinking, he rushed forward, blind fear, panic and anger burning through him as he watched this scene in utter horror. The tiny child America let out another strangled cry at the teeth that sank into bone, yelping and screaming as bone was crushed in gnashing teeth.

Closing the gap, England grabbed for his dream self, only to find to his horror that his hands passed right through. With a strangled growl of frustration he tried again, frantically swiping his arms through the 'man' consuming the defenseless child in his arms. "Stop it! Leave him alone! America!" All of a sudden it was as if England had slipped from participant in his dream to impotent observer, for his words and actions were worthless.

The arms around the tiny child continued to squeeze, and there was a sick crackling noise as the child's spine began to pop and snap. Horrified England saw blood begin to seep out and stain the back of America's white clothes, not from the gaping wounds in his neck and shoulder, but from points in his back punctured by his dream self's fingers. _'No, not fingers!'_ He thought in utter revulsion. _'Claws? When the hell did he grow claws?'_

That wasn't the only change to be seen on his dream self, for that gaping mouth had stretched wider and wider, teeth growing more prominent, far shaper, into deadly fangs with which to rip mercilessly at the runt in his grasp.

"God… stop this, please stop this! I demand you release him this instant!" England brought his hands up to fist in his hair, tugging it roughly and inwardly praying it would somehow wake him, somehow stop this nightmare!

The monster… that monster parading in his skin continued to tear, rip, chomp and chew. His mouth frothed and foamed a bubbling white and red, blood-spit and drool spilling from his lips as he continued to tear into the child. The youngling struggled still, crying and incoherent in its pleas for salvation. Oh the child America had been strong, so strong yes… but the blood, the flesh… so much of it was gone!

England gasped and felt his stomach lurch as suddenly that tiny head and that little mouth darted forward, a whining snarl of a savage pup stringing out of America. The little one bit… he _bit_ the dream self, drawing blood and wildly trying to bite down again.

England's dream self gave a gurgling mockery of a laugh, his maw and throat so full of muscle and skin and even bone that the entire sound was wet and full and gross. His claws pulled out of the tiny America's back, seizing him by the undamaged shoulder and one leg. The monster pulled the child away from him slightly, watching it hiss and spit like a frenzied cat, before the monster began grinning impossibly wide.

England's screams fell on deaf ears as the monster tugged, his muscles in his arms coiling and firing, rending the youth into two parts. The child sputtered and coughed, twitching and going into spasms as it was dropped carelessly to the ground.

With a satisfied snarl, the sound a wet rattle in the back of its throat, the dream self looked at England with utter triumph. It knelt down, and without grace or dignity bent its head down and began to feast like a wild animal. It pressed its face into the corpse, into the carnage. England turned away and ran, ran from the sound of bone snapped between teeth, from the stench of the blood. He ran from the vision burned into his mind, he tried to run from the nausea that would bring him to his knees.

He ran away from the blue sky and green grass, from the worthless wild creatures. He ran and ran until the world turned to black, until form and landscape turned to endless nothing. He ran until his legs collapsed on him, and he coughed and retched and heaved. He spit up heavily into his hand, and screamed in terror as bone and flesh spewed forth from his lips. Tiny stained shreds of cloth were lumped into his vomit, and his mind raged that it _couldn't_ be the clothes of little America!

"_But why not? I am you and you are me. Did we not just devour? Did we not just feast?"_

"Shut up! Silence you!" England snapped his head up, frantically looking all about for the source of the voice, finding himself alone. His face turned red, his body shaking with emotions. "I don't know _who_ you are, but you are certainly not me! Show yourself, no… be gone from my mind! Leave me alone!" His voice raged, fierce as a lion's roar. The smug voice that responded didn't seem to care.

"_But I _am_ you… and you will need me England… no longer can you deny me… not if you wish to live."_

"I will not listen to these lies!" England raged at the voice, pounding his fists against the endless black all around him. Wake up, why couldn't he wake up? What the hell was this? For Christ's sake why couldn't he wake up?

"_We could have been so powerful if we'd devoured him then, if we'd taken that strength into us when we had the chance. But it's not too late now, no. He is still there, that strength may still be consumed. Together forever… we can join with him… we can become one…"_

England flinched as something in the black changed. He caught it only out of the corner of his eye, and it seemed terribly far away. He didn't care, didn't think it through, only got to his feet and ran. If it was a way out he was taking it! If it was his dream self he was going to beat it to a bloody pulp! His feet pounded, propelling him through the black and towards it. A sneer and a scowl were on his face, his face that was pale and sweating through the emotions that consumed him. Step by pounding step he got closer, until abruptly he understood what was before him.

He stopped; he ground to a stumbling stop so fast he nearly fell over. He panted and gasped, shaking his head in disbelief. Standing there, hands in the stupid bomber jacket, was America. The current America. The real America? He was standing so casually, facing Arthur as if waiting for him. His face was neutral, it was blank. Those glasses seemed to reflect a light that didn't exist, obscuring the eyes.

"_Eat him, before he eats you."_

The ground beneath him vanished. His stomach lurched and his pulse quickened as he felt the slip. Blindly his arms stretched up, reaching and grabbing for something, anything. England fell through the dark, purged from the dream.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Italy had become consumed in riots.

The people had seemed to become consumed with frenzy, breaking into fights, burning and looting and attacking each other. Supposedly, no cause for these riots had been declared. No foreign news reporters had been able to glean any sort of story as to what had sent the country into this inner turmoil, none could even get any of the people to pause from their madness long enough to give a theory. Their own airwaves were silent.

All across the country there was senseless violence. People shouted and raged yet there was never a point, never a focus. There was simply the riot. Through the north and the south of the country the riots raged, perfectly mirrored. This was no civil war, there were no sides drawn throughout the country. The people simply turned on each other as a rage inspiring fear and confusion gripped them.

The government still stood, so said the detail starved news casts, yet no official statements or requests for assistance were made. It was as though the government had turned in on itself, was curling into a shell to try to wait out this storm amongst the people. The government was silent yet still standing, and even with the riots the country of Italy was still there.

But Spain could not contact Romano.

Staring with troubled eyes at the television screen, Spain clutched his phone to his hand. He looked uncharacteristically haggard and worried, gaunt and tense even if he wasn't starved or sick. Oh he'd not had a moment of sleep since that disastrous World Meeting in China. That roar had shaken something inside him, something that'd made him remember the days of his so fearsome armada on the seas. Something deep that he felt he should be remembering was trying to get out of him, yet Spain held it at bay.

The situation in Italy currently pulled at his thoughts, made him subdue whatever else was going on with him at the moment in favor of worrying about the Nation he'd once housed and raised. Romano… why couldn't he get a hold of him? What was going on? He hadn't been at the World Meeting, nor had Veneziano. What… what could have happened to the Italy brothers? How could their government still be standing if they were in serious danger? Were they in danger?

'_Aren't we all?'_

The phone rang in his hands, and Spain answered it in less than a heartbeat. "Romano! Tell me you're alright!" There was a hesitant silence on the other end of the line, and Spain panicked. "Romano, Romano! Are you hurt? Are you in trouble? Just tell me and I'll be right there! Speak to me Romano!"

"… Spain… this is not…" The voice on the other end, distracted as it sounded, was filled with a pitying remorse. Spain stopped breathing for a moment, terrified disappointment strangling his chest for a handful of heartbeats before his mind connected just who he was speaking to.

"Not Romano…" he finished for the other, and almost set the phone down in depression, as if he'd lost the strength to hold the device to his ear any longer. He recognized the voice though, identified it even if it was not as exuberant and confident as normal, even if all pretense of flirtation was absent. Still… if France was calling… perhaps there was hope? "You… have you contacted him? Either of them? Do you… have you been within the country?" France did share a border after all; perhaps 'big brother' had witnessed the trouble with his own eyes.

The hesitation returned again, a horrid and cruel companion. Spain could imagine France shaking his head on the other side of the line, even if he couldn't see it. "No… I have not been able to reach either of them nor… nor have I been allowed to leave my country. Forgive me; I had hoped _you_ would have better news…"

Spain's body seemed to sag, his good cheer and smiles fallen away somewhere he felt he couldn't reach. He took uneven steps through the room, finding a chair and collapsing into it. There was a television on in the room, and dimly his eyes watched the broadcast, vision filled with the sight of the Italian riots. Pensively he chewed on his lower lip, all but forgetting he was still on a call. So much rage, such undirected hostility. What were the people of Italy responding to… what was happening to their Nations that would inspire such a reaction?

Was it pain? Were the Italy brothers in so much pain it left their people mad, wishing to lash out at the source yet blind to the enemy? Was it fear? Were the two Italian Nations terrified to such a degree that it was abnormal, that it infected their people and inspired the instinct to fight and not flee? _'Tell me Romano… tell me what has happened to you!'_ Spain raked a hand through his dark hair, pained to think of the trouble his former subordinate was in. What sort of boss was he, if he let this happen? It mattered little that he was no longer responsible for Romano.

'_Responsible… I was… I raised him… he worked for me… there was something else too… wasn't there?'_ The memories started to stir, but with them came a pounding in his chest, his blood taking heat and his stomach curling with a pent up energy shrieking to be set free. It caused him to gasp, to take in deep desperate breaths. His mind, his mind suddenly felt dizzy, as if some sort of haze had fallen upon it, and he shook his head, trying to clear it. This feeling, it was the same that he'd had after that roar.

"…ain… Spain? Are you there?" Snapping to attention, the Nation was caught off guard by how nearly hysterical France was sounding over the phone. Silencing the feelings, pushing them away with thoughts of finding the missing Southern Italy (and the North of course), Spain blinked his eyes rapidly.

"Sorry sorry… I'm here." His voice was apologetic, burdened yet attempting to reassure the other with a lighter tone. It was a mockery of his carefree voice, but he hoped it would help. He did hear an aggravated yet relieved sigh on the other end of the receiver, as well as some rather colorful curses in French.

"Do not scare me like that, I cannot take it right now," France said with a tremble in his voice, as if he was being strained beyond the limits of his emotions. Were it not for some deep seated instinct _not_ to do so, Spain almost thought to offer to go to his friend, give some comfort. The silence that weighed between the two for a moment was heavy and oppressive, and though France spoke up again, his voice seemed no better than before. "I shall continue to make calls… to both Veneziano and Romano… Germany as well though he's yet to answer the phone."

Spain frowned at this, having also met with only failure trying to reach the German. If anyone would know what was wrong with Veneziano aside from his brother, surely it would be Germany.

"I… I must go now Spain. Canada is coming to visit me… do… do be careful… yes?" He resisted the urge to ask 'who', the curiosity over France's guest not enough to prolong their conversation. Spain felt a wan smile hit his lips, but it was good to hear that France truly did seem worried about him as well.

"Of course my friend, you do the same." Their call was ended, and Spain was left once again with worry and a disheartening news broadcast for company. His eyes stared vacantly at the television set before his fingers stirred to life once more, dialing a number he'd been dreading to call. He listened to the tone as it rang, half expecting this to end up like all of his other calls… unanswered.

The phone was answered; it startled Spain as much as the voice at the other end.

"Ah, oh… hello… Austria?" The brunette listened as there was a pause on the other end.

"Spain? Is that you? What are you doing calling me, where are you?" Austria's voice had taken that tone, that specific tone he seemed to fall into when nagging or chiding someone for disobeying the rules or acting out of turn. Spain knew he was being scolded, and yet couldn't entirely place why.

"I'm at home… I was wondering if you'd heard from or seen Romano or Veneziano…?" Puzzled as he was, his words only seemed to further excite Austria. Spain could hardly remember a time when the typically reserved, well mannered and high cultured Nation had seemed to be in such a tizzy.

"Home? Why haven't you gone to find him yet? You're his guardian! He is your responsibility!" The reproach in Austria's voice was palpable, even over the strange sounds Spain could hear in the background. It almost sounded as though Austria were digging about, seeking something out of a closet or a store room.

A deep thought squirmed about in the back of Spain's mind, though no matter how much he clutched for it, it slipped away. "I was his boss, yes… but now—" His words were cut off.

"I'm not talking about being his boss! Don't you remember? Didn't…" Austria trailed off for a moment, as if loathe to bring up the topic. "Didn't that roar remind you? Spain, you must find Romano now, it is your responsibility to keep him away from Veneziano and from—"

It was Spain's turn to cut Austria off this time. "Whaaat? Keep Romano away from his little brother? But why? In times of trouble shouldn't they stick together? For the good of their country if nothing else?"

The exasperation in Austria's tone when he spoke next was only slightly masked by the sound of something falling and crashing to the floor wherever he was. Too much of a gentleman to curse, but seemingly sorely tempted to do so, it took the other Nation a moment to reply back. "Spain, listen to me very carefully… you must…"

Spain waited for the words, almost forgetting to breathe. He must what? What? Would Austria finally say the key words to unlocking whatever mystery was roaming about in his mind?

"… someone is in my country… coming to my… I must go Spain." No matter how swiftly Spain tried to protest and get the aristocratic Nation to quickly spill the words, his efforts were wasted. "Remember Spain! Reclaim Romano, keep him from his twin at all costs, do you understand me? _Whatever means necessary!_ I must go…"

The call was cut off, the connection severed, and Spain stared down at his phone, a blind panic churning inside of him. "How can I do this if no one tells me what it is?" His memories weren't working, Austria had been cryptic… it was almost too much. Spain curled upon himself for a moment, sitting and holding his head in his hands. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and soundly, trying to gain his bearings.

When he looked up again, his face was finally graced with a smile. Somehow, knowing what to do seemed to liberate him. He wasn't consumed by worries, uncertainties and dark thoughts. He cast his gaze to the open window, seeing a sunny sky and feeling his cheerful good nature wrap around him like a blanket.

"Well… I may not understand this all really… but Romano needs my help!" That, if nothing else, was simple enough. The instinct to stay home, stay in his lands, tugged at him but it wasn't enough. Looking deceptively carefree, Spain made ready to leave his home and head for the south of Italy.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

As if Austria didn't have enough to worry over at this _exact_ moment, Spain's call had been completely unwelcome and upsetting. Now, he was also guilty of having forgotten certain things about his past, yes. He couldn't really condemn the Spaniard for that. It'd been so easy to let the years distort things, to lull him into the notion that all those years ago all he'd been doing was raising North Italy. It was easy and perhaps more pleasing to think it'd been something more akin to raising a foster child than watching over a monster.

Tensing, Austria held his breath at the realization he'd had thanks to yesterday. That's exactly what he'd been doing, he knew now. He'd been watching a horrible little monster… tasked with making certain it remained oblivious to its past. To what it _truly_ was. Oh how he'd failed. Hopefully he wouldn't be too late in trying to remedy his mistake. If the news about Italy was true though, he suspected he might be.

Gasping in a breath to relieve his burning lungs, Austria began to all but tear through a storage room again. The item he was searching for was certainly not one he'd used in… in… he couldn't even remember the last time he'd used it. He could only hope that he remembered how to, or at least that his body would. He knew his hands, his fingers, had lost the touch of battle long ago. Music had filled his heart and soul, had transformed him into what he was now.

But a blade, a true and trusty blade, that was what he was seeking now. Not an ornamental piece from off his walls. Not some weak showy blade that'd never tasted blood. He knew exactly the sword he was seeking, knew who'd given it to him so very long ago. It was a sword that could, and had, stood up against monsters.

He felt it again, that strange prickling and itching sensation that told him there was another one of _his kind_ moving about in his country. Austria continued his search, gritting his teeth and wishing he was able to discern just who it was. His hands threw item after neglected item aside, frantically searching. Attack… was he going to be attacked now?

He hissed when his finger found the blade, his skin slicing open and feeding the aged metal. He drew back his hand before plunging it forward, drawing up the sword and holding it before his eyes. Fear gripped him at the thought of what it meant to carry it, and the aspects that made up what he was began to war. He didn't wish to go out into bloody battle. He didn't want to leave his piano, his home. He didn't want to sully his hands, to give up the refinement he tried to project to the world.

The sense of the intruder grew, reminding him with force that there were times when _want_ fell before _duty_. To arms then, to battle. The Nation rushed from his storage room, face grim as he took swift strides through his House. The tails of his coat trailed softly behind him as he rushed along, the spotless walls of his home blurring as he moved. It was distasteful, having to fight in his home. Shouldn't there be protocol to battle, wasn't it rude to attack his home?

He came to an abrupt stop as he heard it. His front door was opened, the tiniest of groans made by the hinges as it moved. Austria crouched down, hidden around a corner. He knew the intruder would be able to sense him, but this was _his_ home… he was stronger here… he had his people and his land. Adjusting his glasses he stared down at the sword. Was he even holding this properly? It would have to do… he heard the footsteps coming closer. One… two… now!

He sprung up around the corner, arm raised and sword lashing out. The sound of metal hitting metal filled the air, a nerve scraping twang reverberating all around him and his foe. His arm seemed to shake from the tremors of the strike, sending an unpleasant feeling shooting straight up to his shoulder. Staring at the weapon that'd met his, he was shocked to discover it wasn't a weapon at all.

"Austria! Be careful! I almost really attacked you!" A frying pan was lowered, relief breaking out over Hungary's face as she suddenly grabbed Austria and pulled him into a hug. For a moment the musician couldn't move, his arms and the sword hanging limp at his sides as he was pinned in the hug. It seemed surreal… this didn't seem right. Nervously he brought one arm up to hug the other Nation before starting to pat her shoulder, trying to get her to release him. Even alone he wasn't terribly adept at such displays of affections. Hungary stepped away, smiling at him.

"You… you were the one I felt?" Austria was confused. Hungary's presence was one he should have been able to recognize without trouble. They'd been so close once, married and united… how could he have not realized it was her on his lands? He wasn't certain if that was a relief or not. She gave him a bright smile though, hanging her frying pan on her belt, adjusting the long spear that rested on her back. She was in her military uniform, which made Austria feel a bit silly to still be in his refined coat and clothes. Still he'd been… he'd been… preoccupied!

"Put that away," she said softly, gesturing at the ancient sword in his hands. With a sheepish blush the male Nation fumbled with it. His sense of order wouldn't allow him to just put it down anywhere. Hungary reached for it, taking it in hand and already moving back for his storage room. She'd spent so many years in this House… she knew where it went. Austria followed, and she cast him a bright smile. "It doesn't look right in your hands. Don't worry, I'm here to protect you!"

It was a relief, and yet Austria had a reluctant frown on his face. "But… what about your lands, your people?" Hungary stopped, smile still on her face but eyes resolute.

"Austria… they're just a short distance away… I can feel them through your border; I can sense it lingering through your lands as well. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't ok." They reached the storage room, Hungary letting out a small gasp at the state it was in. She let out a small laugh as she moved to place the sword where it belonged. "You're… you're really worried right now, aren't you?"

Austria sighed heavily, his defenses and composed façade slipping off so easily around the comforting strength of Hungary's presence. "I am… how could I not be? I cannot help but feel responsible for what is happening." He swept a hand over his hair, shaking his head. "I failed Veneziano… I have to act before it is too late." Urgency rose in his voice again, instinctively looking back for his sword again. Hungary's hand shot out carefully, touching his shoulder lightly.

"Austria… what do you mean?" For the first time since she'd entered, a bit of actual doubt entered her eyes. Almost pensively she looked at him, her voice soft and hesitant. "What's going on? I'm here but I… I don't understand all of it…"

Austria closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Of course Hungary wouldn't understand the situation as he did. She'd lived in his House, she'd become his wife and yet… yet she'd never been tied to all of _this_ as he had. She was involved deeply and yet… not as he was. He opened his eyes and adjusted his glasses. He fumbled for the words, struggled to find the way to express what was happening. He must have started to fidget for Hungary let out a soft laugh, taking his hand and leading him out of the storage room and to his piano.

"Here… tell me… tell me what's happening." She gestured to his piano and Austria was filled with deep gratitude towards her. Yes, he could do it like this. He would always be able to truly express his feelings through his playing. Smiling at her gratefully, he took a seat at the piano bench after drawing out a chair for her to sit upon. His fingers rested over the keys as his feet took up their position by the floor pedals. Ivory and black stretched before him, and he cleared his mind. Posture perfect he waited for the melody to fill him, for the score to form in his mind.

He began at first to play the music of Chopin. His fingers began to draw up the sounds of one of the etudes, the Winter Wind. His fingers danced on the keys as the emotion of the piece began to fill and press through him. His body moved as he played, subtle movements that wouldn't allow the music to sweep him away. Something in his mind screamed at him though, a deep feeling of dissatisfaction ran through him so intensely it stopped his fingers, a discordant noise choking out of the piano at his sudden stop.

Hungary said nothing at his abrupt stop in playing, watching him intently in silence. For moments Austria tried to compose himself, tried to reach and find a score that could accurately settle this situation. So many brilliant composers, so much glorious music out there… and not a single piece came to mind to truly portray the situation. Music had never failed to give his emotions and thoughts expression, and yet now… now.

'_None could know to write about this… their music cannot speak to the situation because they were human…'_ They couldn't even begin to touch upon the situation here.

Drawing in a shaking breath, Austria began to play. Though he did indeed compose his own pieces… to try to put this all into sound felt almost terrifying. It would be embracing the situation… he could not turn away from it once it'd been put into sounds. Something so intangible would make it so real… yes… he had to do this. Each note that he pressed into the piano began to gain in confidence, the fluid skill of his hands dancing with perfection. Even his body began to move more with the music as heavy and powerful notes were drawn forth.

The song wasn't savagely primal, but it was drawn from dark depths. It was strong and foreboding, it was ancient and persisting, it was frantic and tumultuous as sounds and notes from the start continued to return and surge forward again. Two light and frantic sounds, tiny and quick, littered throughout the piece. They'd started closer, as one, yet had divided during the song. As everything in the music became direr, as the music was all but overwhelming, those two tiny notes started to come together again. A tiny trickle of sweat escaped his brow as he neared the climax, played towards the end of the music.

He gasped and had to stop, panting lightly, his fingers shaking over the keys. His eyes were glazed for a moment, coming down from the spell of his own song. In her seat Hungary was tense, the music having washed over her, flooded her senses. There'd been no words, but music from Austria's hands would always be more eloquent than the most poetic of speeches. It was as if the music had formed and shaped the roar, had settled and explained what it'd been… what was coming. The brunette woman could feel the tremors in her fingers, curling them on her lap.

Never… she never would have suspected something like this. She didn't… she didn't even know what to think!

Behind the both of them, clapping began. It was slow at first, though it began to steadily pick up in speed and volume. They both spun about quickly, eyes going wide at the new presence in the room. Striding forward, dressed in his aged gladiatorial splendor, was the Ancient Roman Empire. His face seemed genuinely pleased; his eyes alight as if he'd truly enjoyed the song. "Bravo… bravo!" His voice crooned out the words with sincerity, his sandaled feet continuing to bring him in closer.

"You!" Austria almost knocked the piano bench over he rose so swiftly, pulse racing as he moved to step away from the musical instrument. Quick to her feet Hungary's hands were fast, pulling about her spear and holding it ready. Instinctively she placed herself between the ancient and supposedly dead Nation and Austria. The Ancient didn't seem to care at all, his expression still cheerful.

"You play so well, tell me, did my adorable little grandson love to listen to it? Did it make him happy?" Though the music _had_ always made the tiny Italy Veneziano happy and calm, Austria chose not to answer. His glasses slipped down his nose slightly and he pushed them up, not wanting anything to hinder his sight around this Ancient.

"I'd love to sing along to your playing sometime… it'd be great don't you think? But that's not what I'm here for… not at all." The aura of the Ancient seemed to change, and it was with deep annoyance that Austria realized that the Roman Empire had hidden himself behind Hungary's presence. That's how he hadn't known who was on his land. "You took such good care of my grandson… I came here to reward you."

The Ancient's pleasing face had melted to madness, hunger crawling like worms in his irises. Austria stiffened, Hungary glared. "I'll give you the honor… I'll take your life first…"

"Austria, run!" Hungary didn't wait for the Ancient Nation to attack, lunging forward quickly with her spear. Austria stepped back, unwilling to abandon her yet completely unarmed like this. The Roman Empire was quick, dodging away from the spear and rushing at his original target as if Hungary didn't even exist.

Undaunted, Hungary spun quickly, swinging the spearhead with angered accuracy. She cut into the flesh of the Ancient's shoulder, drawing blood and staining the room with its scent. Something about it made her stomach churn, and one hand released the spear to quickly cover her mouth. The smell… it was so overwhelming. It absolutely flooded her senses; it stole her attention to the point where she almost couldn't think of anything else.

"Be careful!" Austria's voice shouted, the Nation holding a handkerchief over his mouth and nose to block out the smell as well. "Don't let his blood touch you!" He wanted to warn her further, but the Ancient Nation turned to face the woman, finally sighting her as a threat.

Rushing at her he brought his hand back, curling it into a fist with which to strike. Hungary barely had time to defend, bringing the spear tip up to intercept the appendage. The Roman Empire spread his fingers wide, catching the edge and gripping it tightly. Blood began to spill from the wound, running down the weapon slowly towards Hungary's hands. She twisted and tugged at the weapon, trying to pull it from his grasp, eyes flicking back and forth between the weapon and her opponent.

When the blood came too close to her hands, gloved as they were, she relinquished the weapon. Quickly she backed away, bringing her frying pan to her hands and holding it up defensively.

The Roman Empire took the spear in both hands, snapping it in half before tossing the end with the point far into an empty corner. He flexed his wounded hand, gazing down at the gaping flesh. Austria and Hungary did as well, and both were shocked by the sight.

Oh blood was spilling from the wound, but where the skin was split, something else was hidden. Beneath that oh so human flesh was something else. It was as if there was another skin beneath, something dark and sinewy yet mottled and rough. It was as if a layer of disguise had been peeled away. It was a glimpse of the true monster inside.

"I hadn't planned to devour you both… perhaps I'll take this female home to my _son_… soon enough I'm sure he'll be quite ravenous…" With wide eyes Austria took a step forward, then abandoned all caution and ran to Hungary's side.

"No! You can't take her… you can't… you cannot be doing this!" He wished he sounded braver… he wished he had the resolve to demand he stop what he was doing. _'So he's already found both Italys?'_ The Ancient Nation's face lost any traces of humor, a dark frown painting his face.

"I can do whatever I want… I am your king… I am the Emperor." He took a step towards the pair and Hungary pushed her way in front of Austria again, frying pan held high and ready. The Ancient lowered his body, as if preparing to charge and tackle, when a crash resounded through the room. All eyes turned and watched a man come crashing in from the window, rolling to a stop and gaining his feet.

Tossing his head back and laughing, America placed his hands on his hips, striking what he no doubt thought to be a heroic pose. When his laughter stopped however, when his head tilted down, any trace of humor seemed gone. Oh he grinned, but as he peered over his glasses directly at the Ancient Nation, there was no joy in the expression. Austria stiffened, seeing the same look that lurked in Rome's eyes. There it was, the hunger. Perhaps the madness wasn't in America, but the hunger was there… and it almost looked worse.

"Hey everybody! The hero's here!" The typically jubilant voice was darkened and strained, something utterly wrong layered under each word. Like a moth drawn to the flame, America couldn't seem to spare even a glance at Austria and Hungary. He had eyes only for the oldest monster here.

Rome seemed torn for a moment; not wanting to give up his original prey, yet instincts telling him now was not the time to feed. Here was a young buck; here was a defiant young upstart. Here was a challenge to his claim as the alpha; here was a meddlesome fool to be dealt with. He turned his back on Austria and Hungary completely, stalking at America. The two began to stalk each other in a circle, sizing each other up. It was like watching two lions, hungry and savage, ready to kill for claim of the pride.

"We have to get out of here…" Austria whispered, knowing that nothing good could come of a confrontation here. He looked at Hungary, the woman splitting her attention between Austria and the circling. "We need to get America out of here as well, before he…" The words were too disgusting for the aristocrat to say.

Hungary nodded at him, narrowing her eyes as she tried to find a way around this. Somehow she didn't think she could just shout for America to run away. He wasn't prone to listening to others on the best of days, and with his behavior right now… it seemed even less likely. _'It's a shame I can't just knock him out and drag him out of here… I don't think I could lift him and move fast enough…'_ Of all the times for Prussia to not show up here randomly to bother them, why did now have to be one of them? Loathe as she was to admit it, the albino would have been really useful here!

Before she could reach any decisions, the two circling nations attacked. They came crashing together like wild animals, bodies colliding as they grappled and wrestled for dominance. Though his movements conveyed much more experience and skill at the wrestling going on, the Roman Empire quickly found himself failing under the sheer overwhelming strength that America possessed. With wide eyes actually registering shock, the Ancient Nation was thrown straight into Austria's grand piano, body crushing and destroying it from the force of the fall.

Austria gasped, and Hungary decided to pretend it was over the battle and _not_ the loss of his precious instrument. America started up with that obnoxious laugh of his, betraying his inexperience with this further. He should have rushed in immediately, it was foolish to give the Roman Empire a chance to collect himself and make the next move. The brash blond brimmed with confidence however, the notion of defeat far from his mind.

The piano bench was thrown at America, which the Nation knocked away with ease. It'd been a distraction of course, for no sooner had the American swung his arm out did the Roman Empire crash into him again. He forced the younger Nation down, pinning that arm to the ground under America's own weight, kneeing the Nation hard in the gut.

America swore loudly, thrashing and cursing the man on him. The Roman Empire chuckled, grinning at the Nation trapped beneath him before he opened his mouth wide, lips seeming to stretch open farther than should be possible. Hungary's eyes opened wide at what was coming, and without hesitation she sprinted forward. Before the Roman Empire could lean forward to bite into the American, she swung her frying pan. It connected with the Ancient's head soundly, knocking him off the young Nation.

America wasted no time now, quickly springing upon the Ancient and slamming his fist down on Rome's face. There was a sick crack, America's brute strength overwhelming for the newly awakened Ancient. The blond's fist pulled back again and slammed into Rome. Again and again, it seemed as if the young Nation was possessed by the savage desire to beat the Ancient's skull in. Violence danced in those bright blue eyes, madness on the edges yet not yet contaminating his vision.

No… America's eyes were filled with aggression and hunger, his face frozen in a manic smile.

"America!" Austria rushed forward now, horrified at the blood splattering at each punch, terrified of what would happen if America won just as much as he'd been afraid of Rome. _'If America, in the state he is… were to…'_ The blood of the Ancient splattered America's face, and Austria's gut filled with ice at the implications. "Hungary, get him off of the Roman Empire!"

The female Nation dropped her frying pan, rushing forward and throwing her arms around America. She tugged and pulled, mindful of Austria's warning about the blood. "America… America! Stop it! Stop it! Look at what you're doing!" The man was like an impossible weight, not budging in the slightest. She sent a pleading look at Austria who also hurried to bring his arms around America and pull.

"America, get a hold of yourself!" He thought desperately about for something to say to get the USA to stop. "L-Look at yourself! Is this heroic? America, is this how heroes act?"

America's fist stopped, the words sparking something in his mind. In this moment of confusion, Austria and Hungary were able to drag America off of Rome, dragging him a safe distance away. The blond stared ahead dumbly, as if trapped in his head for a moment. Slowly he seemed to regard Austria, eyes flickering dull and bright in intervals. "I'm saving everyone… right? I'm saving everyone right now…" His obsession was being used against him, dark instincts warping it, the blood twisting intentions.

"No America, you're-"

"Austria!" The aristocrat was cut off, his head jerking up at Hungary's cry of alarm. The Roman Empire had gotten up… actually gotten up again, and was backing away. His mangled face was covered with blood, almost unrecognizable in its hideous damaged state. Still, the eyes of the Ancient seemed bright and fierce, pinned to America.

"So there will be a challenge…" Rome continued to back away, withdrawing. "Usurper… I look forward to our next encounter…"

America's body seemed to tense up at that, his muscles coiling with the want and need to charge and chase after the fleeing Ancient. Austria and Hungary did everything they could to hold him down, struggling against the blond until at last he gave up. There was a collective sigh of relief shared by Austria and Hungary when peace settled on the room. They'd survived… it was a small victory yet something to be so grateful for. America, however, seemed nothing but irritated. He rose to his feet first, glaring at the other two.

"Hey, what gives? I go outta my way to come here and save you both, and ya stop me? Why would you do that?" It wasn't quite right, but to Austria's mind he seemed to be coming back to himself a bit. He held out his handkerchief, hoping the American would take it to wipe away the blood. The younger Nation refused it, waving it off and still expecting an answer.

"America… it isn't that simple… there's more to this than-"

"Oh forget it! I'm gonna go after him!" The blond started away, and Austria reached out and grabbed his arm.

"You mustn't… and besides… how do you even know where to look for him? How did you know to come here?" It was a question that was bothering Austria now that he had a chance to think on it. The American shook him off, heading for the window to climb out. His eyes turned skyward, a mirror to their vast expanses, before he shrugged.

"I just… knew… I felt it pulling…" It was all he said before he leapt out of the window, running away.

Austria brought a shaking hand up to his head, overwhelmed by this new situation. He nearly jumped out of his skin at Hungary's arm on his own, letting out a quavering breath to steady himself. The pair leaned into each other, trapped in silence.

"What now?" Hungary whispered, something exhausted in her voice. Austria frowned, feeling just as weary.

"We must warn the other Nations… we must tell them what is happening if they haven't realized it already. And we should… we should… contact England… and… go to Germany…"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Oh lordy… cliché dream sequence ahoy! I wish it'd come out more original, but alas, it was what I pictured! Geh, look how much I fail at writing Austria… and Hungary and Spain and Rome haha… I tried honestly I did!

Reviews are always lovely and welcome. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

_Emboldened by the disappearance of the Roman Empire, the other Ancient Nations spread out. They claimed more lands for themselves; they crossed seas and deserts, oceans mere puddles to their minds. Germania did not rise up to claim the throne and the other six were happier for the end of bloodshed. Seeing the way the children of Germania grew, watching as they became devoted retainers to their father, the other Nations began to carve out their own children. _

_Only a tiny number were created at first, held under fierce scrutiny before a rush of birth occurred. None wished to fall to the same fate that the Roman Empire had, and following Germania's prudence many of the children were first raised without a tie to a people, without a claim to a land. Some children began to prove themselves as worthy swiftly, while others fell behind, would have to wait and wait until they would be allowed to take up the title of Nation. Others still were destroyed swiftly, terrible little fiends and ravenous tiny monsters. Like the Roman Empire had, they divided their land to their worthy children, gifting them with followers and territory._

_It weakened them to do so, but the Nations could not care. Like the Roman Empire, their conquering desires had been turned to those of creation. It was a deep seated need to spread themselves like this, an all consuming drive and desire. Ancient Nation created Nation, Nation created Nation, and soon the world would be divided and full of them. Names would be granted by the people, and children who were ignorant of their origins would in time come to rule._

_The original and Ancient Nations soon began to change yet again. Weariness possessed them, an aching exhaustion that clouded their minds._

_Their time, their time of rule was ending. They'd conquered the world and tamed it. They'd bound and trained humans while being bound and chained themselves. They'd created their own heirs, heirs who could and did create even more. Tired, so tired, the Ancient Nations wished only to rest. They retreated to hidden corners of lands that no longer knew them, and gave up the rule of the earth to their sons and daughters. Their names and faces began to fall from the minds of their children slowly, and even the eldest among them would come to forget his mother's voice in time. _

_Time and progress flashed by their eyes as the Ancients became naught but observers, and this they were content to be._

_This was not a prelude to peace, however, only a changing of the guard._

_The children, young and varied and led about by the conquering wills of the people they both served and ruled, turned to war. They weren't satisfied with the lands granted to them, and borders and boundaries began a grand game of shifting and changing. Wars were waged, armies of humans led by Nations. Sometimes treaties were made, and the new age of alliances sprang up and caused a new side to the conflict. The help of other Nations became as valuable a resource as land and populations. A well trusted comrade, or perhaps a subservient partner, could turn the tides of power well enough._

_Still, these alliances never lasted long, for there was at least one trait the Nations would always hold and inherit from their parents. It was that will, that desire, to become the King… to have it all. They appeared as humans, yet no matter what they believed of themselves, the truth of the beast within could never be erased, only bid to sleep._

_The practice of consuming the enemy was left to the Ancients, who'd said nothing of it to their sons and daughters, but the danger of it coming to light was always present. The Ancients at times worried, and wished to step in, but they had claims to people and lands no longer. They were shadows now, and while they adored their offspring, all remembered the betrayal of the Roman Empire's first son, and it caused some of the Ancients to abandon their own progeny without the most dire of cause._

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

Was it not for the plume of smoke coming from a chimney at France's home, Canada may have thought the Nation wasn't home. The presence of the Nation on his own land was faint, so very easy to miss, and that was never a positive sign when it came to their kind. Why should France's presence feel so diminished? Why did it not flow about his lands and people as it should, embracing them and claiming them and resonating with their hearts and desires? In these troubled and strange times, what would drive France into near hiding in the seat of his power?

Perhaps the same thing that would urge him to start a fire on a fine warm day such as this. Perhaps the same thing that left the door unanswered as Canada knocked. He bit his lip, worry creasing his brow as he tried the door yet again, beginning to fear for the older Nation. _'He knows that I'm coming… why doesn't he answer? I'm sure he can sense me on his…'_ Canada let out a sigh, wondering if perhaps his most common malady was not at fault yet again. _'Actually, he may not know I'm here at all.'_

There were many nights Canada had wondered why he was such an exception, why out of all the Nations he alone seemed invisible to the eyes of others. Yes, there were Nations who guarded countries much smaller than his, less prosperous and shy to the world stage. He understood why they might still be unknown to a Nation here or there. But Canada? His vast country was no stranger to the world stage, certainly not a force that should be so invisible. Yet he was, and though he had an acceptance of this, it was trying to his patience all the same.

'_There is a way to make them see you… now is the time for you to rise.'_

The thought caressed his mind, soft and subtle; not at all timid as most assumed his thoughts would be. The Canadian blinked, reaching up a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, a strange flutter blooming in his chest. The thought had been his own, surely… and yet Canada shivered as he realized that the thought felt foreign at the same time. It had been his mental voice yet not. He listened for it, and it was as though there was something within him. It was unformed; it was beyond his scrutiny as he stood on France's doorstep.

It was not to be obeyed blindly, Canada knew. It was something to ponder deeply over at a near point in the future. For now… for now he was here for France. He was here for the wisdom of the older Nation. If nothing else, he was here to make certain that the other was alright.

He knocked sharply on the door again yet gained no reply. Taking in a deep breath, he sought to spread his senses as wide as possible. He tried to touch to the minds and hearts of the French citizens; he tried to blanket and wash them in his influence. Perhaps France could ignore the knocking on his door, perhaps France would ignore Canada when out of sight… but a Nation that ignored a foreign influence to its people was a dying beast. Surely this would rouse France's attention? Surely if he was alright the Nation would…

'_Ah, here he comes.'_ Canada relaxed as he felt France coming for the door, letting his hearing take over as the footsteps rushed towards him. The door cracked open only slightly, the other Nation peering out cautiously. It was a bit strange to see France of all Nations acting so paranoid and nervous. It was… well Canada supposed it was suited for the times. Smiling softly, he held his hands up gently, as if working to assure the other Nation he meant no harm.

"… Canada? Ah, you're here so soon?" France certainly seemed flustered, though as he peered out at Canada he seemed to be trying to compose himself a bit. The door was opened just wide enough to allow the other Nation in before it was closed, locks firmly set once more. The way he seemed to look about after the Canadian had entered screamed of an intense paranoia, but the younger Nation kept quiet about it. He was rather good at that, after all.

"I thought it was important to come see you as soon as possible…" He was a bit apprehensive to bring up the subject, but really he didn't feel he could wait. The dark look that France leveled at him spoke volumes, and the tight line his lips took on was almost terrifying. It wasn't a look that seemed to suit the frivolous manner France had seemed to adopt at their world meetings; it was such an ominous and dangerous look. It was a face worn in times of intense war… was that what was on the horizon?

"Please, come with me… let us talk further inside…" The Canadian nodded, and without another word France turned to lead him further into his home. As he followed a dark feeling settled in Canada's stomach. It was such an odd thing to be greeted like this by the French Nation… no warm embrace, no flirtatious hugs and coy words. This hardly seemed like the Nation he'd grown used to… and yet… weren't there sides to all Nations that weren't pleasant? Did they not have their ugly little corners, the faces they showed when alliances crumbled? The younger Nation tucked the thought away, nose crinkling as they passed a room with a lit fireplace.

Pausing to look inside, Canada was baffled. In a great fireplace it looked as though France was burning… burning priceless works of art. The fire had claimed them; Canada had no hope of identifying what may have once graced the canvasses. The smell that lingered in the room was pungent and disgusting, a vile sickly stench. He frowned, wondering just why in the world the older Nation would do such a thing.

France, having noticed his pause, waited for him, feeling no need to go towards that room, no need to supervise the fire. "If he comes here… I do not wish for him to see anything that may… anger him… I had to get rid of them…" Canada turned a questioning gaze to the other, watching as France reached up to toy very nervously with his hair. No, it seemed less that he toyed with it, more that he struggled to keep from tugging at it. In an attempt at nonchalance, France shrugged his shoulders. "Ah, perhaps burning them was the wrong thing to do… but I simply do not know…" Teeth were grit for a moment, and then France began to walk again.

An attempt was made at some idle small talk as they went, though aside from a short discussion on the situation in Italy, not much passed between them. Canada was disheartened to hear that France had been unable to contact the Italians, listening to the talk of phone calls being made all morning. The older Nation seemed reluctant to discuss precisely why he hadn't gone to Italy personally, and the younger Nation let it drop. There was something unstable in France right now, and Canada truly was uncertain about just what might upset the balance the other was struggling to maintain.

Canada followed until they reached a sitting room, frowning when he saw a rather strange object on the table. The object itself wasn't strange; however it was strange when in such a casual room. A rather ancient and worn looking épée sat, as if it belonged there as much as the vase on the table. It was seemingly innocent there, casual. Canada was relieved to see no blood upon it… somehow he would not have been surprised if browning red stained the metal.

"Please… have a seat…" France said, and at last he seemed to recover himself a bit. He seemed to dote over Canada for a moment as the younger Nation took a seat, running fingers through his hair, over the shoulders of his clothes, smoothing out wrinkles. He offered the other a smile and a concerned gaze before finally taking a seat opposite the Canadian. "It is good to see you so well. A true relief in a time when I could certainly use the good news! I was rather surprised to receive your call this morning… have you not returned home since the Meeting?"

Trying to relax, Canada shook his head. "I had planned to… but…" He let out a small sigh, staring down at the hands in his lap as he folded them. "I didn't feel I could wait… I… I couldn't just go home."

He let his gaze slip up, watching as France seemed to appraise him. The other Nation seemed as though he knew exactly the topic Canada was trying to encourage, and he seemed anything but eager to speak on it.

"It would have been safer for you to have done so," France offered, true concern in his voice, though also a bit of fear. "I think you would have been very safe in your lands… perhaps… perhaps…" The Nation trailed off, paling terribly as he went mute. Canada frowned. He didn't want to force France to speak of something that frightened him… but he wanted answers. No… he needed them. If he couldn't go to France for them, then who?

"America said something similar you know… he said it'd be safer if I went home as well…" This seemed to jolt a reaction out of France, who almost rose from his seat in panic.

"America said such a thing? Tell me, did he return home? Did he remain in China?" The hysterics that began to seep into France's words unnerved Canada. What, what was going on? It was becoming more and more clear that France was clinging tenuously to a thread of calm, that the Nation was barely keeping his nerves in check.

Nodding hesitantly, Canada tried to explain. "He said it to me at the airport… though… I don't know where he went truthfully. I'm fairly certain he didn't return to the United States though… he all but admitted that he wouldn't be." Running a hand over his hair, he gave a small shrug. "With any luck he took my advice and went to ask England what's going on—"

"What!" The snap was almost audible. France rose swiftly from his seat, knocking it over in the process. All the calm France had been clinging to, the manners and proper decorum… it was shattering right before Canada's eyes. It was as if the younger Nation had deliberately taken scissors to it in mentioning France's bitter rival. The older Nation advanced on him swiftly, grabbing his shirt collar and yanking Canada up from the seat with a strength quite unexpected. "You sent America to England? Why would you do such a thing to him? Why would you do such a thing to _me?_"

Gripping the hand that held him, Canada tried to wriggle from the other's grasp, for the moment trapped. "I… who else should America go to for an explanation? I only thought—"

"Do you know what you have done?" France's eyes were wide, staring through Canada more than at him. His fingers tightened on Canada's shirt, his other hand having snared the Canadian's shoulder with a crushing grip. He held the other not with just the strength of a human, but the strength of a Nation. A terrified Nation, a Nation ready to fight to the death to protect itself. A Nation snared by the most primal of self preservation instincts. "America is too stupid to best England! For all his strength he has not the wits to outmatch England! In the Revolution he had help! Not this time! You know how stretched and exhausted his strength is of late! You have given him up; you have sacrificed your brother!"

Frightened and confused and possibly a little offended on America's behalf, Canada tried to break through France's rant, tried to appeal to the rational mind he knew the other possessed. The older Nation was deaf to his words, his being consumed with whatever thought was racing through his mind. "He will devour him… he will take that strength! Why would you give it to him! You know he will turn on me next… you know he will! I have warred with him for ages but now! Now you have tipped the scales!"

The madness in France's eyes was chilling; it seemed to rob Canada's body of any warmth. It stole his breath away as the older Nation finally seemed to look at him. It was not the look of a friend, of an ally or a mentor. France looked at him as a wolf gazes upon a fawn.

"France, please calm down!" He raised his voice, hoping to mend the older Nation's sanity at least a little. "I don't even know that America went to see England! He probably didn't, you know he never listens to anyone!"

Darkness filled France's eyes, something cruel and calculating replacing the feral madness for just a moment. "Perhaps you are right… perhaps it is not too late… and who says the scales can only tip one way… hmm?"

Every instinct within Canada screamed at him in that very moment, and his body obeyed immediately. Coiling all of his strength, he pushed France, shoved at the older Nation with all of his might. Perhaps it was only his brother that was renowned for his impossible strength, but the Canadian was filled with a significant might of his own. His valiant shove was all that spared him a debilitating wound, was all that stopped France from tearing his throat out. His hand shot up to cradle and press to his neck, feeling the faint trickle of warm blood seeping through his fingers.

France was thrown back by the force of Canada's shove, falling back and away and into the table that held the épée. The weapon clattered to the ground along with the Nation, the sharpened tip cutting open his fingers. It seemed to catch France's attention, seemed to snap him out of the savage mindset he'd been slave to only moments before. The older Nation stared down at the weapon, ignoring the blood that dripped from his lips, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he'd just bitten the Canadian. He stared at the weapon, ancient and trusted, and it seemed as if a fog lifted.

When he turned his eyes to Canada, there was so much revulsion and self loathing in them, so much abject horror at what he'd done that it seemed the Nation might curl up and wail, break down into tears. Before Canada could do much else, could do anything to try to salvage the situation, the French Nation pushed back to his feet. He took the weapon in hand, clutching it tightly as if it were a lifeline. "Get out!" The shout was violent, pitching with emotion. Canada shrank back, beyond baffled by the situation, his own anger rising from the persistent confusion and lack of answers.

The sword was leveled at him, France's body poised and ready to strike with the skill of a master. Canada tried to search his eyes, find some way to bring France back to a calm state of rationality. He could feel the blood drain from his face at the sight he suddenly perceived, could feel the cold tendrils of horror slink through his veins to collect in his heart and stomach.

The skin… the skin around France's eyes looked as though it was peeling away. The soft warm flesh was falling away. Instead of blood and muscle becoming revealed, something else came into sight. It was faint, for not all of the skin flaked off, but the dark grey color, the roughness that seemed of scales. Canada had seen nothing like it, and as it seemed to rim France's eyes Canada stared in disbelief. The sword moving towards him barely tore his attention away, setting him to his feet and scrambling back.

"Fr-France… what is happening… your eyes… to your face…" As the seconds passed, even the skin near France's mouth seemed to peel, those same grey scales being revealed. As Canada backed away he watched the older Nation reach up cautiously, touching the skin around his eyes and flinching. France bit his lip, shaking visibly, before he shook his head, brandishing his sword at Canada once more.

"I told you to leave, go!" The lunge was no longer one of warning, a true attack. Canada had no choice but to turn and run, to rush for the door. He could hear France chasing him down the halls, never daring to look back for fear that he would slow and trip up. His lungs burned with the effort to run, the wound on his throat throbbing painfully as it stung. He reached the front door and was barely able to scramble through the locks before France was upon him.

He was not struck with a sword, however. Instead he felt a foot as he was kicked out. He heard the sound of the door slam and lock again as he hit the ground. Muddled, Canada stared back at the door, crumpled on his hands and knees. _'What in the world just happened?'_ It was… it was unbelievable. Was that truly France? Was it some… some creature come to take his place? Canada knew of America's alien friend… could that have been some sort of imposter? As much as Canada wished it, in his heart he knew the truth. The one on the other side of that door was indeed France… yet it was a France so foreign to him it was as if they were strangers.

The sobbing he heard on the other side of the door pulled him from his thoughts, and though he had every reason to be angry and cruel to the older Nation after the events inside, Canada could not freeze his heart when it came to the other. He moved to sit against the door cautiously, pressing his ear to it as his hands pressed against it softly. Distressed and indistinct murmurs of French trickled slowly through the door between sobs, and Canada gave the other a bit of time, some moments to work through whatever it was that had possessed the other Nation. When it became quieter at the door, he finally spoke up, his voice soft and nonthreatening as ever.

"France… France are you alright?" He trained his eyes to the wood of the door, as if he could see through it. He could almost imagine the other Nation curled up against the door, that ancient sword clutched tightly in his hands.

"No… no I am not…" It was a sadly honest reply. Still, even with such dire words, Canada felt relief. At last… at last he was speaking to France… perhaps at last he would get what he came here for after all.

"Please… I need to understand what is happening… you must tell me…" Soft as his voice was, Canada's words and tone made it all too clear this was no longer just a request. He wanted this information… he was owed it.

A sigh barely made it through the door. "Yes… you do need to know…" And France began to speak, he began to tell him. He wove a tale of Ancient beasts and monsters, a tale of savage things that knew only to consume and to kill. He painted the portrait of the savage heartless battles they held, of the carnage that spread wide across the world until their numbers dwindled. He told everything he knew of _their history_, and he at last voiced what he feared had happened. "He is awake again… the Roman Empire has woken once more. He will return us to chaos as he tries to reclaim his throne… he will reduce us to beasts."

Canada shivered, eyes wide throughout the story, his body rigid. No matter how much he wished to deny all he heard, his heart knew better. His core knew better. His flesh and blood told him clearly that France spoke true. There was nothing but his mind that wished to argue, nothing but his thoughts left to reject such notions. It seemed so impossible… how could everyone not know? How could they not even know what they were? Yes… France had said that it'd been hidden from them… but surely some had figured it out? Had everyone simply forgotten?

"Does… everyone know?" It wasn't exactly how he wished to phrase it, but after hearing such a tale… it was difficult to find the words he wanted. After just being told he was a monster, could he really be blamed?

"… no… it is… not common knowledge… and… just as you did not realize, many others will not as well."

Canada took a deep breath, dreading his next question. Still… he needed to know. Especially after what had just happened, especially with France having attacked him. Bit him. "France… why do _you_ know then?"

There was a long silence on the other side of the door, so long it seemed doubtful that France would answer. Canada could hear him moving, perhaps rising to stand rather than crouch against the door. The Canadian stood as well, though he knew well enough this door would not be opening to him again. Perhaps it would not open until this was all over. He heard footsteps retreating away, but he was not left without an answer.

"Because I am the one who killed one of Germania's precious sons… I tasted of his flesh…"

The French Nation retreated fully within his home. With a heavy burdened sigh, Canada sat down on the steps of the house, dropping his head into his hands. His mind reeled and raced with the new information, his stomach curling and churning each time he considered just what he apparently was. It was a bitter pill to swallow, it was sickening, and it was maddening that it was absolutely utterly true. He knew it in his bones, and it seemed that the roar had left him unable to fool himself. The veil all the Nations had hidden behind had been ripped away.

Feeling numb, Canada pulled out his cell phone. He stared at it with apprehension before selecting America's number. He'd promised to be in touch. It was probably earlier than the other was expecting, he had stated he'd be waiting a few days to contact France after all. However… Canada was glad he hadn't waited, was glad he hadn't gone home. He wasn't entirely certain what to make of all of this, didn't truly know what to do now, but at least he had a place to start. At least he was no longer fumbling in the dark.

"Hey bro, what's up?" America's cheerful voice graced the line, and Canada heaved a sigh of relief. He'd almost thought America might ignore his call. He'd feared America might answer and sound like… like a completely different individual. It felt good to hear America sound so very typical.

"I just finished speaking with France… I visited him—" As usual, America cut him off.

"Already? I thought you were gonna talk to him in a bit. And hey! Didn't I tell you to go home? What are you doing in Europe!" Canada frowned at the phone, knowing that America couldn't see it but not caring.

"Don't you try to lecture me!" He paused for a moment, knowing that if he paused too long America's mouth would start working again. "I told you not to do anything stupid, should I ask you if you've listened to me on that?"

America's silence was damning, and Canada could feel the tension race through his body. Without any sort of grace, America clumsily changed the subject. Canada would interrogate him properly later… in person… where he could truly read America. "So uh… find out anything interesting from the old pervert?"

"Quite a bit, actually…" His voice sounded as exhausted as he felt. Still, Canada didn't try to hide it… for showing this sort of emotion was one of the best ways to truly keep his brother's attention. Annoying and self serving as it often seemed, his brother's obsession with being the hero and saving others could always be counted upon. If Canada sounded tired, it'd tug at America's need to rush to his side, to give him a shoulder to lean on.

It wasn't that Canada used this to willfully manipulate his brother; rather it was this fact that helped him to lower his shields with his brother. It was his way of telling the other that he did indeed want his help. It was difficult most times keeping his brother out, difficult trying to explain to him that he didn't just exist as the other's shadow, that he was a unique entity reliant upon no others. It was quite simply difficult convincing him he didn't need his help every hour of every day. So when he actually wanted the other, he always made it obvious.

"Didja wanna talk about it?" America's voice was calm and soothing, everything Canada was hoping for. Had he been speaking to America in person, he might not have missed how false this calming voice was.

"Yeah but… how about we meet in person, eh? It'll be better that way I think. Where are you now? I can meet you."

America made a strange noise over the phone, as if he were struggling over the answer. It seemed that any comfort the Canadian had been drawing from this discussion could easily drain away at any moment. When his brother spoke again, there was something in his voice that was… wrong. Without a doubt, Canada knew that dangerous expression had to have come back to America's face.

"I don't think we should meet where I am… and ya know… ya know I think you should go home. How about you go home, and I'll come meet you there soon and we can talk, ok? I think that'd be for the best bro… I really do."

Canada took in a breath to calm his nerves. America was not calling the shots here. Not this time. "Where. Are. You?"

"… just go home Canada." Ah… he was calling him Canada… not brother or bro. America could be so transparent in his anger sometimes.

"Where are you?" He nearly shouted at the phone.

"…" The lack of response made him pull the phone away; check to make certain the call was still connected.

"America… I'm not returning home. I believe your words at the airport were that 'there was nothing to protect', eh? I think I understand more of what you meant now. I'm not going to go home and hide… and I'm going to find you. Do you want any sort of control over where and when we meet or not?"

He could almost swear his brother snarled on the other end of the line. Still, America rallied back to cheerfulness all too easily. "Ok ok, geez! You just don't let up when ya get something in your head, huh? How's about this… let's go meet up in Switzerland! Ok? Let's meet there! I really gotta run now Canada… I've got some important heroing to do! Gotta save the world! Talk to you soon!"

Before he could protest, or even clarify when to meet and _where_ in Switzerland, the call ended. Canada cursed, shaking his head. He _could_ call right back… but knowing his brother all calls would go to voicemail, unchecked. His shoulders sagging, Canada decided he needed to rest. With one last look of worry cast to France's home, the Canadian left to find a hotel to stay in before he'd head to Switzerland.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

He knew he should not be here. He knew he was not safe. He knew that he'd been asked, no, begged with not to stray to these lands. Not to leave the sanctuary his family had carved out for themselves in their countries. He knew, oh yes he _knew_ he was engaged in dangerous folly. Yet… if he was the only one who was willing to stand up to the obvious threat, then so be it. He was not a slave to fear, he was not even afraid of the truth his eldest brother had finally passed on to them all this morning. He had his resolve; he had his honor and his deep unflinching pride. Treasured blade carried with him, Japan walked boldly into the lands of Russia.

It seemed impossible to his mind that anyone should even consider leaving Russia alone. Not right now, not with what was happening. Yes, if all things were even, Japan would have perhaps welcomed an ally in this. Indeed, he'd considered making a phone call to America. Surely America would also understand that Russia could not be trusted right now. It seemed only natural that the self proclaimed hero of the world would rush to defeat his supposed rival.

As it stood though… Japan could see no way to trusting the young Nation either. Not after observing him at that meeting, watching him consume so carelessly. China had dreamed deeply last night, and had at last come to understand the situation. It was as though the roar they'd all heard had finally released the locks that prevented China from hearing and speaking to their own Ancient Mother in full. He'd conversed with her, undisturbed in his subconscious, and told them all he could when the sun had risen that morning.

As China and the others focused on the now risen Roman Empire, as they cast their eyes at Europe and the rioting Italy, Japan felt that he must take care of another all too dangerous threat. Whether or not he'd truly come to terms with his own existence as a monster or not was not important. The only thing that mattered was stopping one who already gazed at the Nations with eyes that wished to conquer and claim. To think, if Russia had actually awoken to such impulses now… he would only be that much more dangerous. The Roman Empire was not something to brush aside… but had Japan not seen just how savage young blood could be?

What was ancient and seasoned was dangerous, yes… but to fear only the Ancient Nations? The current Nations were not so weak, no, they had strength enough. To his mind, Japan wondered if Russia wasn't perhaps a match for the Roman Empire, he wondered if perhaps Russia wouldn't go after the former alpha. To consume that much power into himself… then he could surely force all to become one with him, no?

'_I will not allow it.'_ Japan would keep Russia from becoming the next emperor; he would if nothing else give his life to seriously wound the other Nation. Yes… Japan was ready to lay his life down for this. His elder brother seemed oddly at ease being so near to Russia; China did not seem to be properly worried. Cryptic assurances from his elder brother meant nothing to Japan. China had not been able to guarantee that Russia was not a threat… and Japan had not been able to promise to stay in his own country.

It was strange though… Japan had yet to feel Russia's attention on him… it seemed as though perhaps the other Nation was unaware that he was in his land. Was it possible? Russia was the largest country in the world… was it possible that perhaps he could not feel all of his country at all times? It seemed impossible, and Japan dismissed that conclusion as he continued to walk, his muscles burning in the worsening cold. It was entirely possible Russia had left his country… perhaps to go attack another. Was Japan too late then? He wished he'd brought a radio, perhaps he could have kept up to date on foreign affairs. It was too late to acquire one now.

The winds seemed to pick up around him, a flurry of snow assailing his senses, forcing him to stop his walk and huddle his arms close to his body. He tried to keep one eye cracked open, though with the frigid onslaught this was a futile gesture. Even if he could have kept the lid up, there would have been nothing but a torrent of white to greet his eye. Waiting until the howling had stopped, Japan thought he saw a form before him. It was an older man… dressed in military garb. Could it be the fabled 'General Winter'? The supposed protector and tormentor of Russia and his lands?

'_If we're monsters… then what is this? Who is this being then?'_ Perhaps someday he might have the honor and privilege of speaking to their Ancient Mother as well; perhaps she could explain this freezing phenomenon. For now, Japan let his hand move to the hilt of his sword, not drawing it but prepared and ready all the same. Would the steel have any effect on this monstrosity of weather? _'If I am truly a beast as well… there must be a way for me to fight it if I must.'_

The General wasn't moving though. After using the cold to stop Japan's progress, the entity had done nothing else. He stood there watching Japan, mute. He expressed no thoughts, betrayed no emotions, just as Japan did not. Veiled and observant, it was a subtle stare down. Were it not for Japan's awareness that every moment was important, the stalemate may have continued on and on.

"I seek Russia," he explained, voice neutral and intentions kept close to his heart. It seemed as though the air about him dropped in temperature further, as if to freeze the blood in Japan's vein's solid. The Nation began to walk and slowly circle the General, anything to keep his blood moving and flowing. He received no verbal response, but it was as if the cold spoke to him, filling his mind with the words though none were spoken.

'_You will leave him be, you will not touch him. He is mine.'_

It was possessive as much as it was protective, everything Japan had ever heard explained of this beast. The Nation had to wonder at the power of this force. Had to wonder… if this was perhaps a force and beast born of the skies, was it not simply a reflection of the Nations that had torn themselves from the earth? Narrowing his eyes, Japan could only say for certain that he needed to continue on his way soon.

"The winter winds touch all lands… you must know what is happening. He may be in danger… or… it is very likely that he may abandon you once he has consumed the others…"

The cold seemed angered, crushing at his skin and joints savagely. Japan grit his teeth, drawing his blade from its sheath though he knew it to be useless in all likelihood. Cutting a snowstorm had never kept it away before.

'_You know nothing. I know what Russia is, and what he will be. _YOU_ will not interfere.'_

Japan opened his mouth to protest, but the cold was upon him. The winds raced and wrapped him up, the snow and ice clutched at him, and General Winter made to prove to Japan that even monsters had much to fear. His skin and clothes were torn, his blood freezing the minute it escaped from the cuts that lacerated his body. His wonderful uniform of white changed to crimson, and the frost left his limbs too stiff and weak to retaliate.

He lost all sense of the ground, all sense of the world about him. His mind could barely comprehend that he was being repelled. General Winter was casting Japan from Russia's lands, and it seemed the frigid creature cared little if Japan still lived and breathed once he was expelled. All sense of direction was lost as the freezing winds continued to rush him away, the Nation dizzy and disoriented.

Clinging to life, fighting to breathe and holding to the strength of his people with all that he had, Japan would not go down so easily. No matter where he was dropped, no matter where the General cast him out, Japan wouldn't give up.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Night had claimed the skies by the time Austria had finished putting out as many calls as he could. Hungary had assisted him greatly, mirroring his actions and remaining a steady presence at his side. It helped to curb the growing dread he felt each time a phone was not answered, each time a Nation could not be reached. They'd begun to compile a list… a tentative collection of names that may be in danger. The news was played dimly in the background, looking for any international flares of interest. It seemed as though riots were beginning to appear in other countries, some in South America, some in Africa. These were noted as well, carefully documented and packed away.

Locking his house tightly, informing his government that he had no choice but to leave their lands for now, the trip was made to Germany. The lands felt quiet, yet no obvious disturbance touched the streets. There was a sense of anxiety in the people they passed, yes, as well as an almost lost look to their eyes. All the same, though most had finished their work for the day, Austria could feel that the country was healthy and thriving. It was working diligently to support itself and its Nation.

To be honest, he was mildly surprised to see so many lights on at Germany's home. He'd thought the Nation more prudent than that, less wasteful of electricity. He tried to keep the annoyance off his face as he and Hungary approached the front door, knocking cautiously. A frying pan was not the fiercest of weapons, but with her spear broken, Hungary held the cookware as if it were the mightiest sword. It was no secret that she could wield the pan as one.

The door was slammed open, causing Austria to jump back in alarmed surprise. Hungary's arm actually lashed out, and came deathly close to slamming into the face of the man who'd opened the door. Red eyes stared at the pair, a grim smirk growing across the Ex-Nation's face as he looked his two new visitors over.

"Kesesesese… the awesome me knew you two would come here sooner or later! Don't just stand there basking in my incredible presence, hurry up and come in!" Prussia dodged the irate second swing of the frying pan, quickly darting back inside with his typical gruff laughter. Austria could only sigh, following in after Hungary and closing the door quietly after. Of course Prussia wouldn't remain to do so, nor did he linger to offer them anything after their travels here.

No, the two Nations were left to follow after him, walking through a home filled with the sound of radio news broadcasts and television current events reports. It appeared that Prussia had rather taken over Germany's home, the blond Nation currently unseen. Austria knew he could feel the other here… perhaps he was simply in another room, avoiding his elder brother. _'Or perhaps… he suffers from the awakening of Rome still…'_

"What is all of this?" The female Nation gestured to the maps and pushpins connected by threads that filled the dining room, covering every available surface and wall. There were world maps, continental maps, and enlarged maps of specific countries and nations. There were only three different color pins, which led Austria to believe each color certainly had a significance. "And what happened to your arm!"

Prussia glanced down at his arm, held tightly in a sling, at the same moment as Austria. He seemed angered and ashamed of the wound, yet proud in a strange way at the same time. He locked his eyes to Austria, face growing serious. "You told her, right? You remember everything now and told her, _right?_" That condescending tone of voice out of Prussia ruffled Austria, and he stiffened and stood even straighter than normal.

"Of course I've explained the situation. We wouldn't be here at all if we didn't know precisely what was going on." He adjusted his glasses just slightly after his words, keeping his air of composure firmly in place. Prussia kept his gaze leveled, before snorting and shaking his head.

"Heh, knowing you ya probably had to use your stupid piano to get the point across. Not awesome." He began to snicker but Hungary silenced him with a few menacing taps of her frying pan against her hand.

"So what happened?" Her voice snapped sharp, a whip of words. Prussia shifted his weight, leaning back against a wall and causing the map upon it to crinkle from his touch.

"Well! While the rest of you were all in China having a tea party and arguing over which color socks will stop global warming, _I_ was out looking for the Roman Empire." He grinned triumphantly, as if he were about to say something that was extremely impressive. He even seemed to puff his chest up a bit. "I _found_ him! And I fought him one on one!" He grinned, not really mentioning that he hadn't won. It was obvious enough. Still, when Austria and Hungary exchanged glances, Prussia had to notice they didn't seem nearly as impressed as they should have been. "I fought the Roman Empire and lived… you can start being amazed at my awesome now."

Austria actually had to smirk, undignified as it was. Hungary lifted her head, staring down her nose at the albino. "Yes, and so have we actually. But we aren't walking around and bragging about it."

Hungary's words seemed to pierce Prussia like a knife, but aside from shock he quickly tucked away, he masked it well. "You guys fought him? Where… at your House?" He directed the comment at Austria, who nodded. Prussia's eyes took on a feral gleam as he moved to grab up a pushpin, striking it down on a map, directly in the heart of Austria. The aristocratic Nation had to wince, even though it truly did him no harm.

"So… what is all of this?" He gestured to the maps and pins, and as all three took a seat, Prussia at last started to explain.

"I'm tracking it all. Tracking the Roman Empire, keeping tabs on where he's going. He's the gold pins. Then these black pins represent the Nations that seem to have gone down for the count. Red signifies Nations that have gone aggressive." His eyes seemed to twinkle for a moment as he looked the pair over. Austria and Hungary took in the map, comparing Prussia's findings to what they knew. "If you've got anything to add, hurry up and say it."

"You can add a red pin for America… he engaged the Roman Empire in my home…" Austria's voice conveyed his vexation at the event, and the Ex-Nation's face seemed to share the sentiment for a moment.

"Shit, seriously? Damn… I was hoping he'd mostly stay in his country for this… or that Canada would keep him under control…" Prussia was grumbling as he reached for a red pin, driving one into the United States on the map, then sticking another one in Austria. The pins were linked by a thread, signifying movement.

"… who?" Austria couldn't help but ask, wondering who it was Prussia thought should be policing America. He looked to Hungary, but she could only shrug in confusion as well. The Ex-Nation seemed like he was about to answer, then simply shook it off. They continued to combine information, though when Austria explained that he felt the Roman Empire had obtained both North and South Italy, the albino broke off into a fierce tirade of curses and expletives.

"I was really hoping you and Spain would have a handle on this! I mean, this is the duty _He_ gave to you both! Well, you pawned Romano off on Spain, but you explained it to him, right? Damn it… you guys were supposed to keep them apart!" The glare he sent was fierce, his anger working to mask the despair he felt over the news.

Austria's lips pursed for a moment, and he fought the urge to apologize. "We forgot… we all forgot! There's nothing to be done for it now but to move on and… try to remedy what we can…"

"Yeah yeah, you mess up and now Italy and Romano and _West_ are going to pay the price for it! Thanks a lot asshole!" Prussia was fuming, venting his rage at Austria. Hungary stood up quickly, slapping a palm to the table.

"That's enough! There's no point in arguing over this! We… if… just because the Roman Empire may have Italy and Romano… it doesn't mean everything is hopeless. We might still have time… we don't know yet. We should try to act as soon as we can." Her voice easily carried command and authority, the tone well practiced in subduing these two males. Calm settled on them again. "So… Prussia… where is Germany? Isn't he… isn't he here as well?"

Prussia raked a hand through his hair, looking to the right as if he could see through the walls, see straight to where his little brother was. "He's… resting. He was awake enough a while ago to divert some of his connection to help heal my arm and shoulder… but… he's…" Prussia closed his eyes, shaking his head. "He'll wake soon… I can feel it… but I don't know _who_ he's gonna be…"

Hungary bit her lip, clasping a hand to her chest and looking down. A somber mood seemed to settle over the trio, broken only occasionally when the news would play a story that spoke of trouble brewing in yet another country. The three were waiting… waiting for Germany to wake, waiting as if there could be no actions taken without him, no matter how much they wished to spare him of this trial. When his steps began to carry through the house, all three of them stilled, almost afraid to breathe. Prussia stood completely rigid; his skin going so pale it rivaled his hair.

"I… I set out his sword for him… but I put two different uniforms for him…" He swallowed thickly, trying not to ramble out his nerves. The steps were drawing closer at a painfully precise rhythm, controlled and precise. Hearts raced as they waited for the blond to appear, as they waited to see which clothes would be donned… which name would be recognized.

* * *

**A/N:**

So, while of course it should be expected, from here on out quite a few Nations _may_ die. Some 'off screen', some not. I apologize now if the country of your residence falls. Additionally, should everything go as planned, next chapter will contain something potentially gross/gory. It's probably the only part in this fic that almost makes me squirm, which is why I mention it. You definitely need to read it though.

Sorry for the slow updates. I know I stated that this fic would be slow to update, but I would have liked to get this chapter out sooner. I'd love to promise the next will be faster, but I can't.

Thank you for all of the _wonderful_ reviews I am getting for this fic. It adds a lot of pressure to not disappoint, but at the same time it's wonderfully thrilling to hear from you all.


	5. Chapter 5

So... slight gore warning for this chapter... I'm not going overboard, but what's overboard is also subjective.

* * *

_Germania had always been watching, though his slumber now turned to lucid dreams as the Roman Empire tore at the world in madness from wounds never healed. He heard the plaintive cries of the Ancient mother of Greece, the demands of the Ancient mother of Turkey. 'Someone, please, rise up and stop him'. Children were being devoured, Nations who knew nothing of the terror of the Roman Empire. The conqueror was too much for the children, no matter how many wars they'd waged against each other. The Ancients feared for their children as blood began to fall, as the ancient act of devouring returned as the Emperor gnashed his teeth to reclaim his right._

_None would rise though, for fear and weakness was nearly all they had left to them. Even Germania was trapped with fatigue, his limbs far too heavy now for use. Ancients scrambled to do what they could, used their power in any manner they could imagine to protect their young. Some chose to tear apart their children rather than allow the Roman Empire to feast on their flesh and bones. Others tried to hide their children, and some whispered warnings that fell to muddled ears._

_The Ancients had torn too much of themselves away in the past, they were too thin now. They were useless, worthless._

_Yet they still turned to him, to Germania. They gazed at him from all around the world, from their shadowed domains, and begged him to finish what he'd begun._

_What could they possibly expect him to do? What strength did they expect to sit in his body? Had the Roman Empire not declared it that day? Had he not said it so clearly?_

"_I am not the one with the strength to defeat him. Not me… and never me…"_

_Even his children, he feared, would fail again. His two sons, his mighty proud sons who'd witnessed the brutality of the Roman Empire and lived. Fearless Prussia, who was now but a shadow of his former ferocity, stripped of his true right and claims, a Nation without a tether. Resolute Germany, who he'd torn apart once before to perfect, to strip away worthless feelings for the cursed offspring of the Ancient Roman Empire. His sons were not what they'd been before, just as he no longer was. _

_What, what did the other Ancients expect of him and his two prized sons? _

_Why did none look to the cursed grandchildren, why were they not the ones to take responsibility for the madness they'd poisoned their grandsire with? Oh perhaps it'd not been them as they were… but their guilt was their blood, and Germania was certain, oh so certain._

_The Roman Empire would never forget a wound he was given, and forgiveness was but a myth._

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

He didn't find America in Switzerland... no, he didn't see even a trace of his brother. In a way it was a comfort, for in the three days he'd waited he'd come to find the country in a rather terrible state. Staring out the window of the hotel he'd managed to get a room at before the management fled and left it abandoned, Canada could only assume the worst. The country was falling apart, almost literally, buildings all but torn apart as citizens seemed to go mad. Their capital wasn't burning, there'd been no natural disaster... but Canada had gone to Bern, and he'd found it a ghost town. He'd visited others, and found more of the same.

He wasn't sure which he preferred... the cities that seemed to just empty of citizens overnight, or places like where he was staying... ones where people went violent from madness. Perhaps he preferred where he was, for now... because at least here there seemed like there was life. And if... if Switzerland the _Nation_ were still alive... surely he'd move about his still living cities, work to restore calm. The Canadian hadn't seen or sensed him since his arrival however, and after learning what they all truly were... he held out little hope.

Perhaps it was ironic, that Switzerland, so spoken of for neutrality, couldn't escape this. One couldn't escape their very nature, could they? But who then, Canada wondered, was the one to slay the Nation? To... to... devour him? Removing his glasses and rubbing at his eyes, he didn't even know who he could trust at this point. France had nearly turned on him... his brother was out there _somewhere_, avoiding him and getting into who knew what trouble...

Canada lowered his hands and turned his gaze back out the window, to the vision of burned out buildings and looters enjoying the spoils of chaos. Who could he trust? Could he trust anyone? If he was feeling this paranoid, he had to imagine his brother had nearly lost it... if he hadn't from the start. He curled his hands into fists, furious for being shoved to the side, left out of all of this. _No_, he wasn't upset to not be out there _devouring_ Nations... but if there was trouble he wasn't worthless. He might not be the sort to rush out and strike right away, but he was more than just 'the invisible brother of America, with the weird bear'.

Seething he took deep breaths, for in this short time he'd come to learn a bit about his emerging nature. To feed it emotions of anger, to feed it resentment against other Nations and countries, would only encourage the beast within to escape. He'd only seen a bit of the shell fall from France's face, and it was enough to leave Canada determined to retain his humanity. Perhaps it was useless to try, but he was resolved to it. Resolved to that and... if possible... keeping those he loved and cared for from succumbing as well.

_'Which means I'll have to move soon and find America before it's too late... he's definitely at the greatest risk I think.'_ He made a mental checklist of those he'd seek out first, intending to check on France again even if the Nation had locked himself away, and reminding himself of how dangerous France swore England would be right now. Other Nations were being sorted in his mind when he felt it, a tiny tingle and sensation... fury directed his way from another Nation. He stood up slowly, squinting out the window, before slowly leaving his room. It wasn't his brother he was sensing, and it wasn't Switzerland.

With grim caution and anxious worry, he made his way to the street, stepping out into it just in time to come face to face with his 'visitor'.

"How _could_ you..."

No, not face to face... he stared not into the face of another Nation, but at the barrel of a gun lined up to shoot him right between the eyes. A green uniform, blonde hair cut short... but the ribbon and the face were not the Nation this land was missing. Face stained with dirt, marked with tear trails, yet marred with anger, Lichtenstein's hands never trembled, didn't waver. Canada could feel his pulse racing, thoughts doing much the same. He had a very clear sense that his window of escaping this situation was swiftly closing.

"Pardon?" He asked, raising his hands very slowly, trying to project as much as he could that he wasn't a threat here. He would have taken a step back if he thought it wise, but he wasn't sure how much movement to risk here. "Lichtenstein... what happened?" Calm, careful, concerned, he monitored his tone of voice. The anger didn't leave her eyes, though at least she opened her mouth to speak. He was certain if he could just get her to talk, this could end peacefully. Well... mostly certain.

"_Why_?" She asked, hurt making her voice unsteady. "How could you _do_ something like that? Why would you...?" She shook her head fiercely, grip tightening on the gun. It was so strange to see her like this, this Nation many had come to see simply as the shy 'little sister' to Switzerland. Ah, but Canada knew how _that_ went, didn't he? He of all Nations shouldn't be surprised to know there was bite to her.

"Please... tell me what's wrong," he tried again, soothing as could be. She glared at him down the gun, eyes widening and incredulous.

"What do you mean? What about _that isn't_ wrong?" Her lips worked for a moment, emotions driving away her words until a sudden flash of confusion hit her eyes. She stared at him as if she'd never seen him before in her life, and it made Canada's stomach drop. _'Please not this...'_ "Wait... you're not him...? You're not America? W-Who... who are you?" Her grip on the gun wavered a bit, but she didn't drop her defenses. She'd learned from her big brother well.

"Canada," he answered simply, and watched her lips move as if tasting the foreign name. There was silence between them for a minute more before her face crumpled into tears, and the gun clattered out of her hands as she fell to her knees and began to sob. Over and over he heard her mourn for her 'big brother', and Canada knelt down, making soft shushing noises and wrapping his arms about her. There were so many questions he had for her, so many he needed answered _now_, but he didn't press. He gave her this chance to weep out her sadness.

Once she'd gone so quiet he'd almost thought she'd cried herself to sleep, Canada leaned back. She was still awake, looking lost and forlorn and an utter mess. Her eyes watched him, however, aware and waiting, as if she expected something of him. It seemed cruel, but he couldn't put it off. "Do you think you could tell me what happened?"

She shuddered but nodded, looking all the frail shy little Nation he'd come to recognize over the years. He only wished she had on that simple smile, rather than this hurt expression. "After... after what happened... at _that_ meeting... big brother wanted to keep an extra close eye on me at his House. He said... that bad things were going to happen... but that... that we'd stay out of it, like always..." She trailed off, dabbing at her eyes as a stray tear found its way out.

"I think he knew though... that we'd end up involved in this... no matter what we wanted. He... he w-warned me... that if anything should happen to him..." She sniffled, and the way her lip trembled made Canada think she was about to break down again. He rubbed her shoulder softly, and she pulled together enough to continue on, her voice tiny. "He said... that if something happened, I should go to Mr. Austria's House... that he would know what to do. A-And that..." Suddenly she looked panicked, eyes darting about the ground before she lunged for her gun. Canada flinched back, but when all she did was hug it close, relaxed.

When she spoke again her voice could hardly be called more than a whisper. "He said always keep this gun with me... b-because Nations wield weapons, w-while monsters... use their... teeth... a-and... claws..." She shivered and held the gun closer, and Canada recognized it as Switzerland's. He took a moment to rub at his temples, trying to process this information while he waited for the rest of the story. Nations and monsters... one and the same if what France said was true, the line between so tiny. Was it symbolic, then? The use of weapons to denote who turned to instinct? There was nothing civilized about a weapon, their purpose very clear, after all.

Still, France had seemed to regain some of his wits with the sword in hand, and Lichtenstein seemed quite alright despite her fury. But what of him then? Canada had no weapon on him, and he managed the monster inside just fine. And... his brother... his brother was so fond of guns... wouldn't he have one on him? No, maybe not... he wouldn't have taken one to the World Meeting... but really... would that change anything?

"I didn't... see... what happened... to my big brother..." Her tiny shy voice broke his thoughts. "When... he... he sensed something come into his lands... something that scared him. Even... even I felt it... something hungry and strong and..." She seemed to be looking for the words, but gave up. "He made me hide, locked me away and told me not to come out. I... I waited... like he said... but when hours went by and he didn't come back... I... got out. I almost couldn't find him... and when I did..." She looked at him strangely, blinking, as if confirming he was still who he said he was.

"I saw him, bent over m-my... my poor big brother... I saw him! All bloody... with his hands on... on... w-what was... l-left of brother!" She covered her face in her hands, as if she could shut out whatever she'd seen. She spoke through her fingers, words muffled and erratic. "It looked like he'd been ripped apart! L-like he'd been torn open, like someone had tried to... to... eat him!" Her hands dropped, anger in her eyes again, almost accusing. "I saw America there with him! _Why?_" She let out a pitiful wail and collapsed inward, and Canada knew not to ask anything else.

His mouth was dry, mind reeling... he didn't think he'd be able to speak right now anyway. This... this _could not_ be true. His brother... god he wanted to think the best for him... but America was no saint, no matter how hard he tried to paint himself the hero of the world. The need to deny it could be America warred with sheer fury at his southern brother, so angry to have to put up with him, feel somehow responsible or connected to the stupid shit he pulled. But this... if it was true... went well beyond stupid. Stupid would be a blessing.

There was no time for sitting and asking questions in his head, though. He stood, gingerly helping Lichtenstein to her feet. He ran a hand over his hair, trying to focus on what to do next, and sorely missing the familiar presence of Kumamaki in his arms. His companion would surely be a welcome comfort right now. _'Well... we'll try going to Austria for now, I suppose... it seems a good lead to follow.'_ He debated for a moment if he should try to obtain a weapon along the way, but he didn't think it mattered that much. What he did want, however, was a moment alone.

"Lichtenstein? Let's go to Austria's House together, ok? Will... you be ok staying here, until I go get my things from my room?" She nodded, forlorn and mute, and Canada offered her a weak smile. "I'll be right back... call if you... need me..."

With that he jogged back in, waiting until he was alone in his room before yanking out his cellphone. He dialed his brother, cursing when it rang to voicemail. Determined he called again, and again, until at last his brother picked up. "What? Geez, what do you want? This is _not_ a good time bro!"

Angered beyond words at this greeting, Canada didn't bother pointing out that America could have just turned _off_ his phone if he didn't want to be bothered (why give him ideas?), instead all but shouting at him over the line. It felt good to let loose sometimes. "_Where the fuck are you?_" His body was so tense he could swear even his toes were clenched. "_What are you doing?"_

There was a moment of silence on the other end, before America's voice carried over the line. It seemed... not so much distracted... but as if America's attention was split all over. "You're... in Switzerland..." Canada wasn't one for such things, but if he could have reached through the phone to throttle his brother he would have.

"Yes..." He said through grit teeth, as pleasantly as he could. "Where _you're supposed to be meeting me._"

His brother let out a low whistle, an embarrassed laugh bubbling over the line. "Oh yeaaaah... I _knew_ there was a reason I went there..."

Just like that, Canada's anger melted into ice cold dread. His heart flopped unhappily in his chest. "America..." How did you even ask something like this? 'Did you kill and try to eat Switzerland?' It wasn't something he could just say. His brother started laughing again though.

"Shoot, sorry bro! I totally spaced! And I'm not there anymore!" _'But you were here...'_ Canada's mind supplied unhappily. "Hey, how about you sit tight there and wait, I'll come back once I... uh... finish this heroic mission I'm on. Yeah, that sounds good... you sit tight there, safe and sound, and I'll-"

"America, where are you... _what are you doing?_" He couldn't contain it, if his brother had gone mad he... he needed to stop him. _'This shouldn't be my responsibility!'_

"Hey... Canada... I... I can't tell you..." There was serious doubt under his brother's words, as if maybe... maybe... America did want to say. "You know how it is, secret missions. Secret hero missions."

"This isn't funny," Canada huffed.

"... no, it's not." America's voice dropped low, serious and tired and actually a little scared. "Look bro... I just... I have to do this, ok? I think I'm supposed to... but I don't want you hurt... so I... I'm gonna go now. I want you to go somewhere safe, but you probably won't listen to me. But... just... don't call me... anymore, cause I ain't gonna answer." Canada opened his mouth to retort, but it never made it out in time. "I love you bro, remember that, kay?" With that, America hung up.

Staring down at the cellphone for a long while, Canada sighed, picked up his bags, and went to collect Lichtenstein. Go somewhere safe? Sorry America... but he was pretty sure that _nowhere _would be safe if... whatever was happening... wasn't stopped.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

Everything felt a little surreal to Prussia at the moment, and he didn't like it. Surreal was not awesome, decidedly not so. Still... what could he do? Nothing at the moment, nothing but march alongside West... next to his brother who...

"You're staring at me," said brother stated blandly, eyes focused ahead, never even flicking in Prussia's direction. It was uncanny, just _how much_ his brother reminded him of their father right now. His features, his bearing, his stoic determination. Yes, that's who he felt like he was staring at and walking with right now. Shrugging his shoulders, he offered the other Nation a lopsided grin. He leaned to nudge the other with his good shoulder, surprised at just how solid his brother felt.

"Eh, just been a while, eh West? Since you and I marched into battle like this, right?" He tapped the hilt of the sword at his hip fondly. "Yep... been a long time."

There was a sigh beside him, and for just a moment, Prussia thought he spied some doubt in his brother's eyes, a little bit of worry. What they'd come here to do... what they'd been forced to acknowledge was their only choice, was something that wouldn't make anyone happy, least of all West. The pain from this course of action sat in his eyes. It disappeared quickly, as his kin was swiftly distracted with pulling open an old trap door. Considering how ancient it looked, just like the rest of this building, you'd have expected the hinges to scream in protest. The door swung up silently, however, only his brother's grunt of effort making any sound. Nope, just like the footprints in the dust indicated, the long trail of something dragged right beside supporting, _someone_ had been coming and going from this place.

Of course, Prussia knew who. And, as soon as they found him, he'd have to give him a proper thank you for such an awesome fight before.

There was a click behind them, Hungary turning on a flashlight, pointing it down the steep stone stairwell. She leaned forward to shine more light within, wrinkling her nose at the stench of blood that was wafting out of the depths. Beside her, that aristocratic bastard held a handkerchief over his nose, which only made Prussia snort.

"If it's too dirty for ya down there, you can just go running home." He leered and laughed at the affronted look that stole over Austria, and chuckled his victory when the Nation tucked the cloth away.

"Shh..." his brother admonished, and Prussia let out one barking laugh more before starting to stomp down the stairs. Still injured or no, he sure as hell wasn't afraid. The others followed him, much quieter. Honestly, they could all sense each other... did it matter if Prussia made a little noise to announce his awesome arrival?

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, they found themselves in an old stone set of tunnels. The air still carried the scent of blood, thick and heavy and tinged with rot. There were other smells as well, musky and old and forgotten, just like this tunnel. It was like stepping back into the past, desecrating some ancient site they shouldn't set foot upon. Ruins, no, not quite, yet older than the building replaced on top of them would let on. It was, of course, a rather fitting place for an Ancient Nation to hide something away, to hide himself away as well. Not flashy, but familiar. Comfortable for him no doubt.

Their steps carried through the tunnels, dirt crunching beneath their feet, shoes and boots either stomping or scuffing or treading lightly depending on the individual. Prussia looked over to his brother once again, wishing that he could shine Hungary's light at him, sneak a peek at his face. Why the hell hadn't Austria pulled out the light he had? Like fucking saving it made any sense, frugal bastard. He almost opened his mouth to taunt the other Nation when the sound hit his ears. As he was still in the lead, he knew his form was illuminated. He held up a hand, motioning for them all to stop.

The four waited in silence, some wondering why they'd stopped until the sound Prussia had heard became more noticeable. It was still soft, coming from a room or corridor still beyond them, too far for Hungary's light to reach. Collectively they held their breaths, trying to listen, piece together what exactly they were hearing. Tiny snorts and snuffles touched the air, though what they really listened to were the slurps, the fleshy wet tears, and the sloppy crack-snapping that popped now and again. Weapons were drawn as they began to move forward... slowly and cautiously, approaching the sounds of the carnal feast.

There seemed to be a tiny light in the chamber they approached, too weak to cast much illumination past the doorway, but enough for them to focus in on their destination. Their steps became softer and they dimmed their flashlight. It was highly likely they'd been sensed, but if their 'host' was too absorbed with his feast, well, then they certainly wouldn't go out of their way to alert him just yet. From the ever growing sounds of the gluttonous feasting, it seemed all too clear where exactly their host's attention remained.

The four gathered outside the door, weapons and cookware drawn, glances cast about in the dim gloom. In unspoken agreement, the Germanic brothers would enter first, followed swiftly by Hungary and Austria if needed. Otherwise, they'd guard the doorway. Prussia rolled his injured shoulder once, feeling how much it'd healed and ignoring the minor ache that said it wasn't fully fixed yet. God he was ready, his blood was singing for a fight, as if answering to the lingering heavy smell of death. A handful of heartbeats passed, and then he and his brother rushed through the stone arch of the doorway.

His feet almost slipped on the muddy slick substance beneath his feet, and he swore and tried to find stone paving beneath him that was a bit steadier. He glanced down, knowing it was probably blood that'd mixed with the dirt, crude fleshy lumps painting a horribly wasteful picture. But as he regained his footing and turned towards the lip smacking wet chewing sounds before him, squinting through the dim light offered by a tiny scattering of half melted candles, Prussia was actually caught off guard but what he saw.

The corpses of Slovenia, Croatia, and Serbia were strewn before their host here, bodies mangled almost to the point you'd not be able to recognize them. Their faces had been left alone, however, as if their killer had somehow enjoyed knowing the identity of their feast. In this meager lighting, their horrified and pained expressions were frozen like death masks. Even in death, they were able to say oh so clearly that theirs had not been a painless passing. They'd been made to suffer... and Prussia half wondered if they'd been eaten alive.

As it was, Prussia couldn't tell whose entrails the monster in the room was feasting on, and he tried to snap his mind back to task. Shameful, getting distracted like that. It certainly wasn't the worst thing he'd seen in his long life, on a battlefield or no. He tried to move quickly to flank his brother, to catch up to him so they could assert a swift coordinated attack. However, just as he caught up his brother suddenly stopped, and Prussia ran right into that brick wall of a back that his brother had. Stunned and cursing inwardly, Prussia rubbed his nose in a totally manly way as he scowled.

"The fuck West?" He hissed out, but his brother was unmoving. His sword was still held tightly, ready to act... but his gaze seemed locked on their opponent. Prussia didn't get it, they'd seen Rome before, but he finally took a good long look at their enemy. His brows knit into a scowl as he began to understand what he was seeing, horrible as it was. It was something they knew they would probably find, but had hoped not to. If only it'd been Rome down here.

At first it looked like the Italy twins were crouched down on the floor together, Veneziano half laying over Romano's back, arms around his shoulders and neck almost like he was being carried or giving a very tender hug. Their clothes were gone, stripped away and discarded somewhere Prussia couldn't see. A thick chain connected one of Romano's legs to the wall by his ankle, keeping him here at least as prisoner. In the low light, at just a glance, there seemed to be nothing restraining Veneziano. It could have been a touching scene, or at least, a somber calm one. Older brother was supporting younger as they crouched over a mangled corpse, heads hanging low and hidden in shadows as they almost looked as if they prayed for this poor fallen Nation.

But that wasn't right. That wasn't the scene at all.

There was something wet and bloody that seemed to wrap around the twins, tie them together. It seemed to shine and pick up the faint candle light, lumpy and wrinkled and twisted and... pulsing. It coiled around them like a snake, keeping Veneziano riding his brother's back, suturing them together. The source of this binding came from Romano's midsection, came from within, the twisting mangled length of his intestine brought to new use. The end wasn't in sight, but it seemed almost certain it sank into Veneziano, two sets of organs becoming one. Indeed, blood seemed to scab and crust around the area between them, staining skin bereft of any clothes.

One of Veneziano's arms seemed able to move, for it would occasionally reach forward, grabbing at some morsel of flesh to tug and take to his mouth. The other though... it was so difficult to tell in this gloom, but it seemed the other one was fused around Romano's neck and shoulders, greying skin fusing him to the other Nation. In fact, anywhere the two Nations were pressed closely seemed to be growing together, the skin stony and smooth yet turning almost reptilian as the tissue matured. If Prussia hadn't fought monsters before, he might have shuddered. But, even if watching this fusion was sickening, the albino was far too awesome to turn squeamish now.

"... Italy..." His brother's unhappy and hurt voice broke the silence, and the Italians jolted slightly, as if this entire time they hadn't know there was anyone else in here. Their hands stilled, pausing in their endless feast. Veneziano seemed able to look up with no problem, his ripped wide lips brushed over with a too long tongue as it slurped and wiped any lingering traces of his meal away. Romano, however, could barely angle his head higher, and it seemed that it was somewhat fused to Veneziano's arm, as if eventually the older Italian's head would be absorbed down into his body. _'Well, Rome did always prefer Veneziano...'_ Hateful eyes stared at the Germanic brothers, no smile on Romano's shark toothed face.

"Oh..." Both Italians rasped out at the same time, as if they functioned as one now, beyond the bond of twins they'd shared before. Their voices sounded thick and wet, as if their stomachs had long ago grown full to bursting, and everything they consumed now was simply packed into their throats. "It's... _you_... we... have not seen you like this in so long..." The body of the two Italians seemed to shudder, a bone crackling sound echoing through the room as they made to stand. Prussia noted the way it was only Romano's legs that supported them, grown more muscular now to support them both. Veneziano's legs hung behind them, swaying as if boneless, as if in time they'd transform into some sort of twin tails. "No... _I_ have not seen you in a long time. But _I_ have not _been_ for a long time. Do you have a name now?"

"I do," his brother intoned, that deep baritone of his reverberating through the chamber as Prussia could all but see West trying to steel his nerve for what they'd have to do here. He wasn't sure what hurt more, seeing what had become of the Italians, or watching as his brother tried to find the will to kill them. "I have had _two_ names, in part because of you. Holy Roman Empire... Germany. Call me what you will."

It was strange as hell, hearing his brother like this, to see him so... _whole_ again. He'd expected West to wake as one or the other, not to revive with _all_ of his memories in tact. Considering that his brother had attempted to spare the Italies before as the Holy Roman Empire, Prussia wasn't certain this was a good thing. _'Then again, even as Germany, West was always soft on Veneziano.'_ Perhaps some aspects of a Nation simply couldn't be torn away. Therefore, it was best they act now. As far as Prussia could see... they were too late to save North and South Italy. They were too late... so they had only one option.

"West, come on, we have to-"

"Italy! Is... are... is that you?" The light in the room suddenly increased as Hungary's flashlight was turned to the room. It seemed they'd overheard the talking, and with no enemies in sight in the corridor, Austria and Hungary had come to investigate. They both stopped short, for to see the thing that was Italy now in brighter light was disgusting. There was dried and wet blood oozing and clinging to them all over, but now Prussia could see unhealthy pockets of white, as if infections were festering and brewing. Perhaps, on some small level, this was one last ditch effort by the Italians to reject their fusion, a bid to remain two instead of succumbing to one. "Oh... It...aly..." Hungary trailed off, the light wavering just as her hands did. Prussia sent a glare at Austria, the look in his eyes damning the other Nation for failing to prevent Italy from suffering _this_ fate. _'Look... look at the price being paid because you **forgot** what you were tasked to do!'_ Old grudges and petty disagreements with Austria aside, Prussia didn't know if he'd ever be able to forgive the other this. It didn't really help, but at least the look on Austria's face made it clear that if nothing else, the Nation would never be forgiving himself.

"Yes... I am Italy... but that is not all. No... my name... you shall address me..." The fused Italies straightened as much as their deformed bodies could, two sets of eyes blazing. "As the Italian Empire... and you shall bow... for _I am your Emperor now._"

Prussia felt so much anger, so much hurt... and yet to hear such a statement was too absurd to handle. Perhaps his mind needed this, needed some way to detach this beast from the Italian twins he'd been so fond of all these centuries, friends he'd always hoped would remain as they were. If he was going to do this, then he needed to accept right here and now that what was before them was a monster. This was that son, this was the bastard who'd ruined so much so long ago. Prussia couldn't help but scoff, earning the intently maniacal stare from the beast in the room. He sneered at it. "And just what does your father have to say about that, huh?"

A low rattling snarl shook free from their lips, hate and hunger and the need to harm radiating out. "It matters not what _he_ thinks! He will continue to serve us, to bring us food, or he shall be destroyed!"

"Riiiight," Prussia shook his head. "And you put that chain on your own ankle, huh?" It seemed weird that Rome seemed to be tending to his son like this, no doubt the one who'd captured and brought these poor Nations here. However, if you considered Rome had never achieved his revenge on his son... it made some sort of sick sense. His grudge was not with his 'grandsons'... it was no good if he couldn't defeat the one who'd turned on him.

Infuriated, the fused Italies opened their mouths, letting out a trembling roar that shook the room enough to cause pebbles to dislodge from the walls and even some of the candles go out. Prussia knew what was coming, dropping into a combat stance as his brother did the same. It seemed his brother had found the will to go through with this after all. There was no time to check to see just what Austria and Hungary did, the twins lunging immediately.

They were fast, almost impossibly so, three arms reaching out to strike. Fingers clawed and raked towards Prussia first, reaching to scratch and rend, caring hardly at all about the sword he swung out to meet them. Every blow they landed against him was heavy and strong, far far too strong. Their fusion and feasting had grown their strength exponentially, and already Prussia's recently mended arm was howling in pain from this unrelenting onslaught. Thankfully the awesome Prussia had a brother nearly as awesome as he was.

West's blade rushed at the attacking pair, grazing down Veneziano's back and growing the stench of blood in the air as skin ripped. The length of intestine that wrapped around the pair was severed, yet almost instantly sticky sinews shot out, reaching to connect and mend and grow the two together again. That didn't stop the half digested lumps of ingested flesh from bubbling out and dripping down the younger Italian's back.

His brother attacked again, and this time Prussia was able to join him, their strikes coming in tandem. For all his hideous strength, the fused Italy began to shrink back. _'Of course we'll win! You're not a match for us yet! Just half formed pieces!'_ A dire grin hit Prussia's face to see the realization hit both sets of Italy's eyes. It wasn't that he wanted to hurt Veneziano or Romano, and it wasn't as though he'd enjoy their deaths. But, this thing wasn't them anymore... and Prussia had a duty. This was as merciful an end as he could give the little Italians anyway, the best tribute he had to offer. He didn't want to prolong this... it would only make it harder on West.

"Goodbye... Italy..." So much remorse laced Germany's voice Prussia's chest hurt, but still, this had to happen. His brother brought his sword high, ready to bring down a killing strike across the creature's neck. Prussia's fingers clenched tightly around his weapon, almost holding his breath. This was it... this was...

"Stop!" Prussia could barely pay any attention to the word and that all too familiar voice that cut in, his attention snapping to the sight of his brother. His brother who _should_ have just put an end to an age old threat. His brother who should _not_ be stumbling to the side, reeling from the force of an _axe_ slamming into his side. Germany nearly lost his feet, almost fell to the ground. Prussia rushed over, hand touching the wound, glad to see it'd been a glancing blow, hardly bleeding at all. In fury he turned his eyes to the attacker, staring incredulously at his 'friend'.

"Spain? What the _fuck_ did you do?" Spain simply stared at Germany a minute longer, a detached smile on his face as he seemed to make sure West wouldn't be rising to attack again right away. Then he turned his eyes to the fused Italy, ignoring Prussia completely. "Shit... West, West hang on."

He scanned the room, eyes pinning down a very shocked Austria and Hungary. They rushed over, and Prussia nearly bit their heads off. "What the hell sort of guards are you two? How could you-"

Hungary's eyes flashed dangerously, guilty yet not about to let Prussia take this out on them. "It was _Spain_, how were we to know! He has as much right to look for Romano as we did Veneziano!"

"He carries a weapon," Austria added swiftly, voice curt and distraught. "I _thought_ that was supposed to help preserve us."

That was... true... it was weird to see Spain armed yet turning against them. "He must be on the edge..." Prussia growled. "Get West out of here and somewhere safe, I'll handle this..."

"No..." The three kneeling around Germany all flinched, surprised when the Nation tried to rise. It hadn't been a mortal wound, but it was clear Spain's blow had bruised Germany deeply, possibly broken some ribs as well. Even through the pain, though, Germany's blue eyes were hard with resolve. "I will not leave until we've done what we were tasked to do. I owe it... I owe it to Italy, to be the one who does this."

Prussia had to admit... he was extremely proud of his brother. Maybe a little worried, but damn proud. He helped West slowly to his feet, the foursome turning to face Spain and fused Italy. Hungary shone her flashlight a bit higher as Germany took a step forward.

"Spain, move aside." The Spaniard didn't react, caught in some sort of visual hold with the fused Italy. "Spain," his brother tried again, louder this time.

"Romano..." Spain crooned out, voice sounding same as it ever did, as if he were seeing the Southern Italian as he always used to look. Not as this deformed beast in front of him. The head of Romano seemed to move slightly, as if trying to get a better look at the man talking to him. "Romano... the boss is here. He's come to help you."

Italy was silent, eying Spain, though deep thoughts were flickering through both sets of eyes. Crafty, conniving, they looked for something to turn to their advantage. They used whatever tricks they had available. "Spain," just Romano's head spoke, Veneziano's silent now and watching Germany. "Spain... it's about time you bastard!" Prussia's skin crawled to see them attempt this deception.

The insult was answered with a chuckle, the Spaniard shifting his weight, adjusting the heavy and long double headed war axe in his hands. "You weren't easy to find, you know. Come on, it's time to go home. Come back home with your boss now."

"Spain..." Prussia moved closer to his friend, not willing to let whatever delusions he was suffering go further than this. "Spain, look at them, that's not-"

"Oy Spain!" Romano's head shouted, trying to cut Prussia off. "Hurry up and help us then, so we can go with you!" A nasty look was shot Prussia's way. "These fucking potato bastards are trying to hurt us. Both of us! Stop them and we'll both come live with you!"

Spain's eyes seemed to go a bit glassy, a smile on his face as he turned to face the foursome now. "I _did_ always want to have both of you live with me..." He was moving as if in a trance, but Prussia knew better. No Nation, reverted to a monster or not, had this sort of ability. They could not bewitch. No, this was simply the madness that Rome had woken with flowing through Spain, perhaps tempting him with the thought of devouring the Italians on his own. Those dazed eyes looked at those assembled in turn slowly, seeing through them, before locking on Austria. "You told me... that Romano was my responsibility..." He hefted his axe higher, a dark look crossing his face, the glassy look gone completely now. "So you'll back away _now_ and let me handle this."

"Spain," Germany was eying the other Nation warily, prepared this time should the man attack. "Think, you must understand-"

"I understand that I _won't_ allow Romano to be killed, unlike the rest of you! This is what being a boss is all about." He shook his head, all smiles and good cheer banished away, the fierce warring side of Spain so many forgot rearing its head once more. "I can't believe you would all do this."

Germany scowled, hiding his hurt at the accusation with anger, moving to face Spain properly. His voice was grim and final. "We do this because we _must_. You're the one who doesn't understand."

The two clashed blades, Spain trying to strike a solid blow against Germany while keeping the Nation at a distance. Germany deflected and parried, seeking a way to get in close, to bridge the defensive gap Spain's longer weapon created for him. Prussia watched for just a minute longer before he looked to Austria and Hungary. He knew what to do. "Now! Come on!" The other two Nations snapped out of their daze, readying their weapons and moving to Prussia's side. The chamber suddenly darkened as Hungary swapped out holding the light for her makeshift weapon. While Germany held Spain at bay, the three of them would end this abomination in Italy's skin.

"I'm sorry Italy," he heard Hungary whisper, and on Prussia's battle cry they rushed forward. The beast slunk back, chained and unable to evade properly. It raised its arms to defend itself, to deflect the attacks. It raised its voice as well, both heads shouting out separate cries for help.

"Spain! You bastard help me!"  
"Germany, help! Please help me... Holy Roman Empire!"

There was a hitch in his brother's battle, both Nations struck deeply by the cries for help. Still, Germany forced himself to obey his duty, raising his weapon against Spain again, keeping him occupied.

Prussia snarled. No more, he wasn't going to let this thing harm his brother or Spain with its words any more. He lashed out quickly, catching Veneziano's head with the tip of his blade. He'd failed to get a deep cut, instead slashing open his right cheek, as if extending the already ripped mouth open to positively obscene levels. The creature wailed and screamed, voice rising in volume higher and higher. Still, the head that belonged to Romano was unharmed, and with those eyes sharp the fused beast continued to struggle to defend itself. It wasn't over yet, and the trio continued to fight the monster that lurked inside them all.

As more wounds were accumulated by the fused Italies, things started to become more frantic. The panic of Veneziano's head started to become overwhelming, all semblance of sense shedding away. Thrashing and snarling and snapping, the abomination struggled wildly and without focus. These frenzied struggles made it difficult for the three to land a hit without getting hurt or knocking into one another, and it pissed Prussia off to no end.

Italy howled even louder, enough to almost force Prussia to cover his ears from the force of it. Dimly it occurred to him what was happening, and he cursed inwardly. Like a wounded animal, Italy was calling out for help. Calling out to his father, to the Roman Empire.

"We have to hurry," Austria grit out over the noise, the Nation limping from a deep gash in his thigh. Prussia rolled his eyes, wanting to snap out a biting retort while knowing the aristocratic pansy was absolutely right. The last thing they needed was to have the Roman Empire come down on their heads, to join in this attack as well.

"We need to immobilize it," Hungary shouted, marginally more useful than her former husband. It was a good idea, but how would they do it?

The sound of something snapping could barely be heard beneath Italy's cries and wails, and it was with horror that Prussia realized what that sound was. He moved too late, watching as the fused Italy darted past them, having at last broken the chain that bound him down here. The howling distress calls ceased immediately as Italy fled, and Prussia immediately gave chase, calling for Hungary to follow him. Austria lingering for a moment as if he couldn't decide who needed more help, Prussia and Hungary or Germany. As if the albino cared, he was too busy trying to keep Italy from escaping.

If he managed to get out of here as he was...

Reaching the end of the tunnel, rushing up the stairs they'd come down and finding only a trail of blood that soon seemed to disappear, Prussia howled his own fury. _'Shit! Shit shit shit!'_ He turned and punched the wall, a real terrible idea at the moment, but the only way he could vent his fury. They'd lost him... it'd be too difficult to track the monstrous Italy right now. He raked a hand through his hair, so mad he couldn't even see straight. No, all he could really seem to do right now was stare straight ahead, seeing nothing but their failure here. Trapped in his anger, he didn't move, hardly reacted at all when Germany and Austria eventually came back to the surface as well, carrying a knocked out Spain. Prussia was too mad at _everything_ to find the focus to be mad at his friend. But there was time to give Spain hell for his lapse in sanity later.

For now... for now there was little to do but return home and plan out a new strategy for stopping the madness poised to turn them inside out and devour them all.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

So... I managed to keep it under a year since I've updated this... but honestly... sorry everyone (or rather, anyone who's been waiting on this to update). No excuses, just a giant sorry. I've been kicking myself over not working on this, if it helps. Anyhow, in the interest of attempting to get this fic to a faster update status, I'm revising the format a little. Most notably, you won't see 'lore' at the start all the time anymore. Some bits will pop up when appropriate (I don't want to waste what I've written), but the story won't try to keep pace with those bits anymore. That helps me with the second change, which is shorter chapters. They'll still probably be somewhere in the 3-5k word range, so they won't be tiny, but cutting back a bit should help.

Proof reading may have been a bit shaky this time around, so please excuse any glaring mistakes.

Reviews are loved and appreciated, especially as I get back to writing this, though more than anything I just hope people enjoy.


	6. Chapter 6

Staring out the window, arms crossed behind his back, Germany tried to breathe in the feel of his people. It was late once again, night truncating his view, and yet did a Nation really need to look with its eyes to see its people? Perhaps that was getting a bit too poetic, for in the literal sense yes, yes he did need to look with his eyes. But Germany wasn't gazing out to _see_ them, per se. He simply needed to feel them, remain connected, to draw from them. It would have been better, he knew, to be out there walking his streets, perhaps stopping to speak with anyone out this late. He knew he was taxing them deeply, relying upon them to heal not only his wounds but his brother's.

It was incredible, feeling his body knit itself together again like this. It was a perverse luxury of their kind he'd always avoided if he could. Monsters indeed, drinking up the strength of others, all to fuel their violent tendencies. It was best to heal naturally, lest a vicious feedback cycle erupt. Germany wouldn't be forcing his people to heal him like this if he didn't fear that he'd come under attack at any moment. No, a lingering wound couldn't be tolerated right now. Thankfully it hadn't been a crushing blow.

His people... he knew they were strong, he knew they would not fail him... but he'd not had to rely upon them like this for many years now. He would have to be careful, cautious, to make certain this strain upon them didn't create any unwanted side effects. They wouldn't understand this sudden inexplicable stress they would feel under, this odd fatigue and worry that would no doubt plague them. Oblivious as humans were to their connections to Nations, when they were relied upon this heavily it often led to mass panic. Sometimes hysteria. Sometimes things much worse. You could seek out the international news for any number of examples right now, for it didn't take the death of a Nation to send the people into an uproar.

_'I am here, I am with you all. Together we shall prevail. Trust in me. I am your Nation.'_ He breathed deeply once more, repeating the thought like a mantra as he slowly exhaled, as if projecting it out to his people. As he drew strength from them, he did what he could to give back as well. He held close everything he treasured about his lands, their culture, their traditions and accomplishments. He drew up from his memories every triumph, every moment he'd felt satisfyingly proud of his country.

His eyebrow ticked just slightly, though, when he dug too deeply. When he hit recently reclaimed memories that felt fresh and raw like a wound of its own. As much as he wanted to look at the memories, turn them inside and out and embrace them... now was not the time. He... he simply didn't know how his reclaimed identity as the Holy Roman Empire would conflict with his firmly established life as the Nation Germany. Eventually he knew it would affect his people in some manner, but now was not a time when he could afford to experience these changes, let them flow naturally. Until the threat of the Roman Empire was gone... and the threat of the self proclaimed Italian Empire as well, Germany had no time to rest.

That wasn't all he lacked the time for. The image of North Italy flowed to the front of his mind's eye, smiling at him and calling to him before crumbling away to dust. No time. No time to mourn the loss of a friend, the loss of someone so very close to him. Because, it had to be so. North Italy, if there was anything remaining before, must surely be gone by now. The two halves would continue to fuse into a whole. It was already clear that the mind of Rome's first son still lived within them.

A quiet knocking on his door didn't draw his gaze, yet he tilted his head just enough after hearing it open to show whoever it was that he knew they were there. He could identify them if he wanted to, but refrained. There was no reason to stretch his senses right now, to waste the energies his people bestowed upon him.

"He's awake," Austria said softly, voice sounding weary and worn out, raw in a way the aristocrat probably would have tried to hide before. Germany nodded, eyes still locked to the window. He... quite frankly he didn't really want to see anyone at the moment. Didn't want to turn and see Austria cleaning his glasses, as if that could somehow provide him with the clarity of sight needed to figure out what to do now. He didn't want to see the guilt that had lodged itself into that Nation's eyes, didn't want to see the apology. But not wanting to see something wasn't enough to stop him from doing what must be done.

"Has he said much?" _'Is he sane? Is he himself?'_ The questions went unasked, but Austria answered all the same.

"His body seems unchanged, and he seems... calm. He's smiling at any rate, though he refuses to speak to any of us. He won't even speak to Prussia, though... your brother seems rather upset with him." Germany turned at last, face stoic as ever.

"Prussia's rarely happy about things that get in his way. We... might have been... done with Italy now, had it not been for Spain's interference. We might have only had Rome to deal with now..." Germany scowled as he trailed off, shaking his head.

"Rome and any others who've followed his example into madness," Austria all but sighed out. He replaced his glasses, looking down at his hands before tossing a rather strange look at the blond Nation. Germany arched his eyebrows just slightly, and Austria sighed. "Sorry... it's just... strange seeing you like this."

Germany allowed a tight lipped smile before leaving his room, Austria at his side. Without a word between them they headed for the basement where Prussia was watching over Spain, Hungary keeping watch near the door, just in case any Nations came with ill intent. Germany had always been a leader, but it felt so strange to lead in this. His past self and current self overlapped quite nicely... and yet tiny edges seemed to misalign. His, what, soul? His essence? It was whole yet still muddled, burdened by a duty he'd failed to do before. He could remember now... tiny little Italy... North Italy... how adorable and innocent and how, even knowing who the child really was, he'd wanted to be with the little one forever.

Were Nations ever supposed to feel like that? He hadn't felt that same draw with any others before, not even his own brother, not even his honored father. It was affection, he was certain, not hunger.

_'It was a weakness father tore me apart to abolish.'_ Yes, he couldn't dwell upon such weak and sentimental notions.

He'd expected to hear his brother shouting when they reached the bottom of the stairs, when they approached the door to the basement room their 'prisoner' was occupying. Prussia was never shy about speaking or shouting, of course, quite the fan of his own voice. But there was no gruff shouting, no yelling, no anger being verbalized beyond the door. It was only silence, not even the sound of Prussia really losing his temper and trying to break something. Germany didn't pause to ponder this, opening the door and striding in.

His brother met his eye, leaned against the far wall, arms crossed and face a smoldering mask of repressed fury. Spain sat in a chair, bound down despite them all knowing how ludicrous it was to think mere rope could hold down a Nation. Especially if a Nation had begun to revert to the monster inside. At the very least, it seemed as though Spain had not taken that path. Yet surely, based on his actions... _some_ form of madness had gripped him tightly.

As Germany moved to stand directly before Spain, the captive Nation gave him a critical look over, as if truly trying to see him for the first time that day. The sound of Austria closing the door barely caught the blond's notice, and if the other Nation had left to take watch with Hungary, Germany didn't care. His focus was solely on the Spaniard, on the brunette who peered at him with a simple smile, something deceptive hiding in his eyes. Two-faced... some had called Spain's 'sunny stupidity' nothing more than the mask he wore to fool the world into thinking he'd been tamed. The mask he'd perfected when England had seemingly claimed dominance over the seas.

What need did any of them have for masks now?

"Such a nostalgic outfit you wear," Spain said at length, voice terribly pleasant, as if commenting on a wonderful tomato harvest. Germany didn't bother to look down at his clothes, at his standard Germany military uniform, half obscured by a replica of the cloak he'd worn as the Holy Roman Empire. "I remember of course. You and Austria and Hungary... with little Italy Veneziano... all together... while I had Romano..." It was the only time his voice broke, dipped darker. When he spoke South Italy's name.

"So you remember then? You remember it all?" Their eyes bore into each other, and something very nasty and cruel washed over Spain's face. Something horribly angry.

"It all? Is there something in particular you hope I remember? We are both quite old, and we have seen and done so much you know. What should I recall? The days when conquest and colonization took me across the seas, to wealth and glory and power? When I touched the Americas, when I thrived? Or do you want me to remember my time with Austria?" His voice was bitter, painfully so. "No, you want me to remember when Romano was entrusted to me... when I was told to keep him safe, away from his brother. You want me to remember making a promise to Austria, to recall words of an oath that I would kill the child before I'd let him become a monster again."

He shook his head, frowning. "Right? _That's_ all you care if I remember?"

Germany nodded. "If you remember..."

Spain sighed and closed his eyes, as if he wasn't certain what to do with his anger, and simply wished to pretend it wasn't there. "If I remember, why did I stop you from killing them?" He cracked open an eye, shaking his head. Half a smile touched his lips. "How could I not stop you?" Hanging his head, body going limp against the ropes that bound him, Spain began to look rather gloomy. "I'll admit... there's something inside me that stopped you for reasons selfish and cruel. There's something inside of me that has _always_ wanted to claim the Italies... to have them both. For so long I could just smile, tell myself it was because they were both so cute... that they'd make such perfect underlings for the boss...

"But you and I know better... we all do deep inside. The first son of the Roman Empire, his heir and direct legacy, his most powerful offspring." He wouldn't raise his head, staring at his lap, eyes hidden by his brown hair. "There isn't a Nation alive that doesn't hunger for that power, no matter how tame or submissive they pretend to be. No matter how civil we've told ourselves we are... the beasts inside us... they want to consume Rome's son desperately."

Like a tired doll, Spain finally raised his head, meeting Germany's gaze once more. The fire, the madness, it seemed to have cooled. "I want it... long for it... to have the strength I had once... to feel that powerful. It is very possible... if you had not been there... I may have been blinded... I may have hurt my poor little Romano." He let out a choked sob, no tears streaming down his face, only dry guilt and remorse. "But more than that... I wish to believe I stopped you to save him. I know what you think... I know you believe it is too late... but Romano... Romano is my charge. I have never stopped looking after him, as much as I could, as much as politics dictated I could. If I have failed him... and I have... then it is my duty as the boss to fix this."

Germany closed his eyes, shaking his head. "There is only one solution to this."

"... is that truly what you wish to believe? You won't fight for him? For little Veneziano? One was made two before..." Germany took in a sharp breath at that, as if the very idea wounded him.

"Enough, it cannot be done." He turned his back on Spain, catching the oddly contemplative look on his brother's face as he spun. "We are not the Ancient Nations... such a feat is... beyond us."

"Surely someone could know..." Spain whispered, and Germany felt his hands ball into fists. He wasn't allowed to want this... not again. The opening of the door broke the tension, all eyes moving to stare at Austria. It seemed the Nation really had left them alone down here, though why he returned now couldn't be good. He looked, flustered, but also rather puzzled. Germany could see something heavy weighing on the Nation, and he could only conclude the news of another Nation falling had been brought to them. It took a moment, after opening the door, for Austria to compose himself.

"We... we have visitors, or rather, I do," the Nation tried to pull himself together further, to affect that attitude of his. "Lichtenstein and... Amer... no, no... and Canada have come. I... think it best you hear what they have to say..."

Germany frowned, wanting to yell at Austria, tell him that he had his hands full already. If they'd come to see the other Nation then he should be the one to handle it. But... Austria knew the situation... and if he thought this was something he needed to hear...

"Come on West," Prussia said, coming to his brother's side and clapping a strong hand on his shoulder. "I wanna hear this, too."

Germany spared a glance at Spain, deciding to leave their captive down here. It _seemed_ Spain was keeping the madness at bay again... but there was no reason to possibly get him riled up again by this news. There was also no reason to remain around someone who refused to accept what must be done.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

There was something... something strangely intimidating about being in the room with the European Nations, Canada realized as everyone assembled in one of Germany's home offices. It was odd, to suddenly feel that now, when he'd felt comfortable standing among them (albeit rather invisibly) for quite a long time now. They weren't doing anything to project this feeling, though Prussia seemed to naturally exude an intimidating aura. It was just, perhaps... this whole situation. Monstrous natures and old Empires rising up. In his relative 'youth', in the vast north of his home, he'd been ill prepared for such events.

When he and Lichtenstein had found Austria's home empty, they'd grown worried. Finding a broken window had only made matters worse. They'd searched about, calling and trying to sense the Nation, yet found nothing. His country had felt empty, and yet Canada had noticed that his people seemed fine. Worried about the strange global hysteria as all people were at present, but it didn't seem like Switzerland had. They'd come to the conclusion that Austria had to be alive... but on foreign soil. If there was one benefit to moving about the European continent, it was how swiftly they seemed to be able to do so. Far easier than moving back and forth over oceans. Even moving across his own home took much longer.

It was unsettling, the way his chronic invisibility seemed to be slipping, the way the others were starting to take _some_ notice of him. He knew, of course, that many of the alarmed and suspicious looks were because of his brother. At any other time it might have been a little funny, seeing the momentary panic flash through their eyes, the 'when did America get here?' screamed in their heads before they realized that no, this was Canada. The 'safe' one.

_'You could use that to your advantage...'_ He clenched his jaw, shoving away that insidious inner voice. His own personal little beast trying to claw up and out. _'You are dangerous you know. They know, even if they refuse to acknowledge it. They shouldn't only fear America... you've-'_ No, he needed to stop!

"Please, if you could explain why you're here again..." Roderich provided a welcome distraction, one the Canadian gripped onto tightly. Lichtenstein had grown very quiet, almost a permanent shy fixture at his side for now. So, he took charge of the situation, telling himself not to mumble or stutter and to speak up, just a bit louder. It took a couple annoyed comments from Prussia to get Canada to finally hit his stride speaking, and the words flowed out well towards the end. Even if they weren't things he wished to say. Switzerland was dead... he'd told Lichtenstein to find Austria if he fell.

He touched very briefly on his encounter with France when explaining his presence in Europe. Germany had stared at him very strangely then, as if the mention of the other Nation had sparked something in his mind. The last thing he needed to say... the bit he'd talked around when saying what had happened to Switzerland, of course involved his brother. He knew it wasn't his job to protect or cover for America, but at the same time... he didn't know for certain if he'd had a hand in killing Switzerland, didn't know for sure if he'd consumed anything. Circumstantial evidence, or rather, the small bit Lichtenstein had seen. America, bloodied and over the Nation's body... but she hadn't... hadn't actually seen...

"My brother... was there... in Switzerland..." he trailed off, not because of his own unwillingness to say these things... but because of the looks Austria and the others were giving him. _'They know something!'_ His mind snapped at him, and to say Canada was getting tired of finding things out after the fact was an understatement. He frowned behind his glasses. "What?" Had his voice really come out so cross?

"America was at my house recently," Austria said, and for a moment he seemed to regain a bit of that snobbish attitude of his. "Broke through my window, the brute! Honestly didn't England teach him to use a door? To knock first? And then... and then he had the _nerve_ to break my piano! My priceless, ancient... _cannot be replaced_-"

Ok, Canada was going to stop him there. "Wait... America broke into your house through your window... to break your piano?" It could be said that America and Americans in general could be 'all sorts of crazy'... but random violence against innocent musical instruments made no sense. Breaking through a window... ok sure, sounded like America trying to be 'heroic'... but the piano bit? _'And... Austria isn't hurt...'_ Was it too soon to hope that meant something good?

"Not _to_ break the piano," Hungary said, taking over considering Austria seemed too flustered to be a calm coherent narrator. Hopefully his distress wasn't centered around a silly piano. "The Roman Empire... he came to attack Austria. Somehow your brother showed up just in time to fight him..." Hungary held Canada's eyes, and he had the unpleasant feeling that she was looking for something. As if she was trying to understand America by understanding Canada. "It seemed as though he was chasing him, going after the Roman Empire without..."

This lack of answers was enough to make a Nation scream, and Canada wanted to pull at his hair. Eventually he just sighed, and sagged a bit. Tired, he was too tired to understand everything, to put it _all_ together. "Playing hero... whatever he's doing... he's probably playing hero. He's probably trying to 'protect the world' like alw-" His voice caught as a sudden memory hit him, digging through his skull like a knife.

A woman's voice, hands tearing at his skin, tears splashing upon him.

_'I am sorry my sons, I do not know what to do...'_

Canada stumbled back, hardly able to register the voices that suddenly shouted at him, to register the feel of Lichtenstein's hands tugging at him.

_'Hide you... protect you... I do not know which path to take... I do not know how to keep you out of all of this... I...'_

Was he even breathing? He couldn't tell, couldn't see anything that was actually around him, room going dim as strange flashes danced before his eyes. Hands... _her_ hands, the rich earthen color of clay. Hair, _her_ hair, dark as the wild night sky, falling over her shoulders and over him as she ripped oh so carefully and tenderly. There was another hand, holding tightly to his, not ripping at him like hers. There was a name... there was a name to the one next to him that he just couldn't recall, couldn't find a way to say.

_'I walked so far, I stepped away from them, yet they come here... they bring it all back again. They have bitten at the north tentatively, they're staring at the south with unmasked greed. There is no time, I cannot stop their invasions, but I will not have all of my children die... I will find a way...'_

Fresh pain as not just skin, but flesh was ripped away, relief coming only when those hands would move to work on the one beside him, _on his brother_, instead. Like a mantra she spoke as she worked, despair choking her voice.

'_Hide you... Protect you... Hide you... Protect you...'_

Germany's office snapped back into view all at once. Canada drew in a shaking breath, disoriented and more than a little panicked. Having a blade at his throat certainly didn't help, nor did the red eyes of Prussia that pierced him as he was held down. Canada gulped and didn't move, trying to regain his wits. He remained motionless, not wanting to do anything to anger the ex-Nation holding him down in such a deadly manner.

"Pull it together," Prussia said slowly, letting Canada up after a long scrutinizing look in his eyes. The Canadian nodded slowly, taking the hand the albino eventually offered him and getting up. "Sorry, but can't be too careful right now."

"R-Right... no hard feelings..." And really, there weren't any. Canada put a hand to his chest, feeling it beating away as if he'd just run a marathon. He flexed his fingers, almost as if to assure himself that he was still real, still whole. His gaze dropped, watching his hand, and he frowned, staring at his skin. His pale skin... he hadn't always been this pale. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, head swimming and aching and phantom pains making the monster inside him churn and howl with rage. "Help, I want to help."

He said it quickly, while he still felt he could get the words out, so that he got _any _words out at all. The others looked at him, Prussia's face taking on a grin that said he approved. Germany came to stand before him, eyes narrowed. "In order to stop..." He gestured his hand to the side vaguely, as if motioning to the whole world. "...'this'... you will be asked to kill." The German's tone dropped dangerously, but there was no need. Canada understood. "Will you be able to do this?"

"I'll do what it takes," he said quietly, though of course he had his reservations. Perhaps these European Nations seemed to know more about the situation, but that didn't mean Canada wouldn't keep his own eyes open. He'd make up his own mind on what was 'necessary', what they 'had' to do and what could be avoided.

Germany's jaw tightened, as if he could see such thoughts, but he didn't call him on it. Instead he turned so he could look at everyone, casting a slightly softer look at Lichtenstein. "We should all rest then. We will meet in the morning at five sharp to discuss our next move." Canada nodded, Hungary moving to usher him and Lichtenstein to guest rooms. By the time he was alone and on a bed, Canada's mind felt truly empty. He couldn't even think right now. Monsters... Empires... America... that strange memory. None of it. Not right now. He closed his eyes and all he really wanted was the familiar feel and smell of his land, and soft little Kumatari in his arms.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

I just can't write Spain simply as a happy simpleton, I just can't do it. Of course, considering the circumstances of the fic, no one is exactly as you'd normally find them, but Spain especially. Then again, even in the manga and such you see him do more than smile, so I think it's fine.

Canada's little flashback there used to be a 'lore' bit. I edited it down, but when appropriate you might get to see the 'whole' thing.

Japan, Greece, and Turkey are mostly featured next chapter. Greece and Turkey are important in this fic, and I haven't even mentioned them much yet! Such fail.

I also got really tired of reading over this chapter and proofing it, so if I made any amazing grammar/spelling/word/sense errors, I apologize. Of all my fics, I hate proofing this one. No clue why.

That's about all I have for ya down here. So... thanks for the reviews (to those who do), and I hope you enjoyed!


	7. Chapter 7

_She had enthralled the Emperor, stolen his heart when their ancient animalistic warring had ended. She was not the only one, but it was clear to all that she held Rome's eye, that she'd found a special place in his heart. Fearsome and terrifying as she was in combat, the terror she could bring as one of the final few, Greece seemed to slide well into her new and much more peaceful life. She was a consort to their alpha, yet she enjoyed her freedoms as well. Rome was a wanderer, and she was happy to let him dally with others he wished to bed. A lightness had fallen over her, something easygoing and friendly, and she found it such a welcome change to the savage mindless beast she'd been before._

_Nothing could have prepared her for the joy she would feel when she created her son, when she tore from herself a successor. A son she crafted, and she was careful in her creation, she would not follow the disastrous example Rome had. Happily she shared with her son, walking amongst her people with him held tenderly in her arms, sharing everything she had with him. She did not know it at first, but in time it became clear to her. This child, this son who looked at her with vigor and brightness, who seemed to grow swiftly with strength, would inherit everything she had. Perhaps she would create more children, perhaps she would not. One thing was so very clear to her however, a fact she could not stop._

_She would leave him her name... yes, should she ever fall, he would be Greece._

_It startled her, when she began to see the children of the other Ancients grow up, when not tiny new Nations but juvenile adults began to wander and explore, talk and yes war. Her own son was no longer a mere child, boisterous and in love with activity and sport. She made certain to temper him, of course, sharing with him tales of history, having him sit with her while her human philosophers wove their wonderful words in profound ways. He could not be only one thing, she wanted to share with him this balanced life, something she'd not had when she'd been created. _

_She was wary at first, when a foreign son began to spend time in her lands. Her first instinct was to drive him away, force him out of territory that was not his, away from people connected to her and soon her son. He backed away easily at first, young and no doubt uncertain about crossing an Ancient. Yet time and again he would return, and the look in his eyes was not warlike. Greece had seen the look before, had seen it in the eyes of Rome after they'd changed. It was fondness, perhaps attraction. She knew not what to make of it, of this child who seemed to play at an adult. It had never occurred to her to consort with the younger Nations in such a manner, and perhaps it was this curiosity that lured her into letting him into her lands._

_He was so young, and at first it was sweet. It would not last._

_His true inner nature, the failing of his own parent in his creation, or the truth of their existence. She knew not what to blame when he turned on her, when he wounded her deep and swift, when he gutted her before she could bring against him her age old experience in combat. To be brought low by what seemed no more than a babe when compared to her, it was almost more intolerable than the killing wounds. No insult was greater than when he began to feast, when lips that'd kissed her and adored and flattered her parted to allow teeth turned sharp to rend her open. She truly had become a shadow of her former self... she truly had diminished._

_He left her, alive and incomplete, bleeding and wasted and open to death. Why he hadn't made certain to snuff the life from her body she did not know. Would not know. Would never ask, even if she survived this. Unable to move or react as he took over all she'd come to claim, her vision so very dim and dark, a shadow had crept to her side. Her son... the one who would inherit her all... he looked at her with such strange eyes... and she wept as he did something she knew Rome's son would never even consider. Her son... her beloved son. Pride and heartbreak made her chest burn.  
_

x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

When he finally woke, Japan was certain that his insides had been converted to ice. That powerful winter deity had surely left a mark within him, and he wondered if perhaps the winters of his own lands would change from now on. He wondered if his people would suffer colder seasons. He blinked his dark eyes slowly, determined not to allow it. This winter general may have sway and influence in Russia, but Japan would not give in. _He_ was the Nation, the influence, of his lands. He felt frozen now, but just as he knew he must master the monster inside, so too would he drive away the cold in his bones.

Sitting up slowly, frowning at the heavy stone beneath him, Japan was not certain where he was. Not his home, and he had to conclude it would not be Russia. He was sure he'd been cast away from there. So... where was he then? He let his eyes drift, moving slowly from side to side. It didn't take him long at all to recognize this spot, to remember sitting not far from here before. Last time he'd come here, he'd sat upon a grassy hill, held cats and had idle conversation. Now... now he rested upon ancient stone, ruins left behind to the Nation who held power here.

Gazing up at the sky, leaning against a massive cross, was Greece himself. The Nation looked weary and sleepy as ever, his clothes disheveled. Still... there was just something in his posture, something most often lacking, that gave Japan reason to pause. Greece's body had always looked too strong for one who simply seemed to sleep away his days. He could too easily dig and bring up the ruins left to him by his ancient mother. Watching the Nation gaze at the clouds, it didn't feel as though the other had been faking it all this time. He didn't get the sense that it'd been an act all this time... but it was impossible not to notice Greece's strength right now. There was power in the Nation... power that seemed trapped... siphoned?

"You're awake," Japan quickly looked in the opposite direction, shocked to see Turkey of all Nations approaching him. Not that he showed it with anything more than a raising of his eyebrows, but still, he'd felt it. Nations were turning on each other, reverting to cannibalistic monsters... and these two grudge-bearing Nations were choosing _now_ to seemingly get along? They could _tolerate_ each other on a _good_ day... Japan would have thought they'd be tearing at each other's throats after Rome's awakening. The masked Nation walked over, kneeling down at Japan's side and reaching out with his hand.

"Don't touch him, you'll leave your stink on him," came Greece's words, blunt and unyielding. Turkey turned his head, a sneer on his lips and an argument not doubt on his tongue. Japan didn't want to be here if these two started up a bloody battle now... but at least this helped him regain his bearings. Greece and Turkey antagonizing each other was familiar. He shook his head lightly, and looked between the two of them. Greece was coming over to check on him as well now, cross carried over his shoulder.

"Greece-san, Turkey-san... how did I get here?" It seemed unreasonably far for the winter spirit to toss him _this_ far out of Russia.

"We found you in Georgia," Turkey said, smirking at Greece as he managed to 'win' by answering Japan first. The sleepy Nation looked at him with unhappy shadowed eyes.

"Ah... and... what were you... doing there...? And... together...?" It was too curious to think of them teaming up. Once again Turkey was quick to answer, talking right over Greece when the Nation started to speak.

"Reconnaissance. Heard a rumor Georgia went down, wanted to check it out. Got to know who's still left in the game... and it's best to know who's started devouring." Turkey offered a mirthless grin, even if the fire of competition heated his words.

"We haven't been traveling together," Greece supplied slowly, pulling Japan's attention his way. "But it was inevitable... that we would have to deal with each other." The two Nations shared a long meaningful look, one that wasn't open hostility, only unpleasant history. Before the tension could raise further, Greece turned back to the Asian Nation. "He owes me a debt."

Turkey barked out a retort, a nasty string of words that showed how much he disagreed with the statement. He stood up from where he'd been kneeling, looking down on Greece with loathing. "I don't owe _you_ anything."

Greece stared up at him, not cowed in the least. "You tried to _kill_ her."

Turkey scoffed. "It was the way of things then."

"No, we had changed. _You_ fell back on old ways. You _gave in_!" Greece rose to his feet again, hand snapping out in an uncharacteristic display of speed. Turkey's mask was removed, and Japan gasped, staring up at inhuman scaly flesh, coarse and discolored. Turkey snarled, making his face seem that much more monstrous, and Greece stood taller, arm moving about the cross, as if preparing to use it as a weapon. Turkey's hand found the hilt of the blade at his hip, his eyes furious slits.

"What does it matter? _You_ saved her." Greece said nothing in response, though Japan wondered very much how Greece had apparently saved his mother. The typically drowsy Nation didn't relax, didn't take his eyes off of Turkey and that hideous deformation around his eyes.

Turkey's body shook with fury, though at last he looked down at Japan. He didn't seem ashamed of his face, of the half beast it seemed to make him. He didn't try to reclaim his mask either. Instead it seemed as if he was allowing Japan a moment to glimpse what lay beneath their skin, to have a chance to see a sliver of what they were. Japan's mind collected this new information, absorbed what he was being offered. It wouldn't let him ignore the fact that Turkey, no matter how human and tame he was acting now... had devoured the flesh of an Ancient Nation. He bore the glimpse of his true form like a battle scar. _'He knew... never would have forgotten, the monsters we are. He's known and played nice... he's known and watched us all move about in ignorance.'_

Perhaps the rest of the Nations could exist in ignorant bliss, but never Turkey. Never him when the proof of what they were sat right under the mask. Japan looked over to Greece, noticed the way that Nation watched him now instead of Turkey, and realized that Greece had never forgotten either. No doubt whatever price he'd paid to save his mother had left a lingering effect upon him.

"What were you doing in Georgia?" Greece asked, cocking his head to the side just slightly. Japan dipped his gaze, furious with himself over his failed mission to keep tabs on and possibly stop Russia.

"Someone needs to watch Russia. China refuses to see him as a threat... so I stepped up instead." Greece frowned at him.

"You shouldn't be here... you should stay on your island... this all doesn't need to concern you..." Greece's words stabbed at Japan, hit him deeply even if the barb had not been intended. His lips thinned as he thought of isolation... of the state he'd tried to remain in for so long until he was forced open. It hurt, even now, and perhaps forever. He would always, in some fashion, want it back. He and his people had moved with the times, integrated into the global community yes... but it was so cruel, like dangling a water bottle before a parched man in the desert.

"I will not... _wait_... for this conflict to come to my shores..." He said slowly, as reasonably as his carefully chained emotions would let him. He found his way to his feet on his own, pride prickling at his skin, almost making him burn it seemed. Hotter and hotter, and for a moment Japan wasn't certain if it was anger making him feel such heat or something else.

_'You can have it back of course... you simply need to win... or... devour enough that none will be stupid enough to come after you...'_

"You can't listen to it..." Greece's words seemed to drag Japan out of whatever was afflicting him, the heat mostly vanishing under those deep even tones. Both of the Nations with him watched him with eyes that clearly understood what he'd just experienced. Turkey smirked, reaching up to tap the hideous skin about his eyes.

"It doesn't lead where ya want it to," he said, and it wasn't _exactly_ regret in his words, just a grim familiarity.

Japan reached up, rubbing at his temples a bit. Pulling himself together, he looked at each Nation in turn. "What are your plans?" He asked at length. Turkey gripped the hilt of his sword firmly.

"We kill Rome, of course." Japan frowned, looking at Greece who gave a slow unhappy nod.

"... that will not 'fix' this though... will it?" Though the 'madness' in them all had woken with Rome, Japan couldn't see it simply disappearing with the Ancient's death.

"It will not..." Greece conceded. He hefted the cross a bit, resting the weight part on the stone, part his shoulders. "Any Nations that have let the madness consume them will have to be dealt with. But... with his death... at least... no others should give in to what's inside..."

Jaw set, Japan gave a slow nod of acknowledgement. His eyes slid to Turkey, however, and he arched one brow. "There is no redemption?"

The formerly masked Nation gave an aggravated sigh. It seemed there had to be, not that the tiny voice in the back of Japan's mind wanted there to be. He squashed it down, refusing to listen. The evidence though... if Turkey had turned savage in the past... yet managed now to live in a 'civilized' manner... how had he done it? Turkey stared at the mask Greece still held, shaking his head. "I don't know how it happened... how I 'settled down'... If there's a way to restore sanity, I don't know it. I benefited... but I don't have that answer."

Crossing his arms, Japan considered the situation. He was still concerned with Russia... yet it seemed that if he allied with Greece and Turkey here... in the end... he'd be in a better position to deal with any threat. They _seemed_ able to control the beasts inside, seemed to possess more personal experience and knowledge of the situation than China had shown. Japan wasn't convinced China had been completely upfront with everything he knew... though perhaps old grudges and conflicts were the cause of this. It wasn't anything near perfect or all trusting, their relationship.

"I would like to go with you," he declared at length, and he could see they weren't pleased with the idea. He was set on the idea though. No matter how much he wanted to go home, seclude himself away and will the rest of the world to leave him be... it wouldn't work. The world didn't function that way anymore, and he simply didn't have the military might to enforce the isolation he wanted. People looked at 'the world' more than they looked at 'countries' sometimes. They moved and traded and grabbed resources from whatever lands they could. Even he knew he had to.

"If that's what you want..." Turkey offered at last. Japan nodded, looking between them.

"Where do we go now?" He asked, and Greece pointed off into the distance. He fixed tired eyes to the island Nation, sober and serious.

"We go find my mother."

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

The door rattled, steel creaked, and sharp scratching could be heard. He pursed his lips, staring at the shaking barrier, wondering if against all odds and precautions he'd taken... it wouldn't hold. He paced back and forth for a moment, slowly, thoughtfully, willing the feelings inside to go away. He needed a level head right now, he needed clarity he was content to pretend he didn't have most days. He paused and swallowed slowly.

She was trying to escape again.

The shiver of fear that sent down his spine was illogical... it seemed ludicrous that he should fear her as he did. But what she lacked in size and strength she made up for in sheer tenacity and ruthlessness. Oh he could be ruthless... but she could be so very single minded. She could also, if let out to devour... become so strong even he would have no idea how to survive. What tactics could he use if that happened?

Play to her love? Oh no... that had been twisted and warped _long_ before all of this. She would be joined to her big brother... one way or another.

Smoothing one hand down his scarf, other hand holding that rusty pipe of his, he moved on. He left her door behind, tried to ignore the pounding and scratching and muffled shouting coming from the other side. He had other concerns, things and Nations he did _not_ fear yet he kept here all the same. A smile couldn't help but grace his lips, a giggle flutter up through his throat, as he imagined the world outside this stronghold he'd forged for himself.

He paused at another door, taking a moment to peek inside of this one. Huddled in the far corner of the room was his little guest, staring at him with the widest most terrified eyes he'd ever seen. Poor little thing, he looked like he was going to tremble himself to death. He would have gone inside to comfort him, to give him a warming pat on the head, but there were other things to be done now. That... and he was feeling hungry... so it was best to simply move on. He didn't want to do anything on accident he may regret later.

The food in here wasn't for him anyhow.

He passed his pawns, all tucked nicely into their squares on the board. Well, not all were pawns, but none here in these little squares were his King and Queen. So much of the game still to play, though to say 'play' implied this to be a much lighter situation than it was. The tormenting ache around his neck grew as if to remind him, calling to mind forms that so many had claimed were nightmares and madness. How very silly, the forms had simply been what lurked on the inside. There was much pain that would happen, but he understood pain. He understood that pain was no excuse to fail.

He kept smiling, pleasant and simple and as blessedly innocent as part of his mind would like to be. He smiled and contemplated that fool from the west, contemplated a splinter that sat under his skin, one that festered across the ocean and just would _not_ ever let itself be forgotten. This little splinter... it was such an important piece, and it was a piece not yet on the board where it should be. Fingers drumming along the length of the pipe, he pondered what moves he needed to make to ensure this very important piece moved where he could catch it. Capture it. Make it his own to enhance his own side.

Chess was a game of pairs... there were too many who thought they could be players moving about. This misconception would have to be corrected.

He could have skipped up the stairs in his glee at this challenge within challenges. A boring opponent was always a bit disappointing. An unworthy one even more so. Thankfully the one he wished to view across the board was quite worthy. Very much so. Therefore, he would make certain to do his best, present his very best game for this opponent. He would use his best strategies, would select only the finest pieces for the game. He paused, tilting his head to the side.

"Perhaps I shall have to capture another piece before the one I want moves within my reach..."

Moving his pawns had done nothing to draw out the piece he wanted, or so it seemed. Quite frustrating, and he felt vaguely annoyed that behavior he predicted was not being followed. Was it the madness, adding a new randomization to his target? It seemed impossible... for surely the one he wanted had already been mad... had always been mad.

Hadn't he helped to make him so?

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Yes yes, we all know that Turkey isn't hideous and monstrous under his mask, that he's a normal handsome guy. No need to point out that he's been officially unmasked before, I know. I know. ;D

The last segment was intentionally typed without names. Personally, I think you can figure out who everyone is, but if you can't, well, that's part of the fun.


End file.
